The Autocrat of Melhurst

THE AUTOCRAT OF MELHURST Anne Hampson

Claire had promised Simon Condliffe that she would stay on in her job as nanny to his small niece as long as he needed her -- but she hadn't bargained on falling in love with him, and then having to watch him with his close friend--or was she his fiancee -- Ursula Corwell.

CHAPTER I CLAIRE stood -uncertainly by the gate, anxiously watching the road while at the same time aware of the growing restlessness of the six jodhpur-clad figures who were waiting for her to mount her horse. As it was the Easter holiday period she knew that most of the children had appointments for music or dancing lessons, but Mr. Condliffe's deep authoritative voice over the telephone had left its impression, and despite the children's sullen whisperings she felt she should wait a little while longer. Twenty past ten .... Claire shrugged and decided at last to go without his niece. Mr. Condliffe had probably changed his mind, or even forgotten the appointment altogether. The lesson lasted an hour; on their return to the stables a large car stood in the yard and as Claire dismounted Mr. Condliffe strode towards her. He waited until the children had moved away before he spoke. 'Miss Harris?' he enquired, in a tone that had the immediate effect of making her bristle. 'Yes. You are Mr. Condliffe?' He nodded abruptly. 'I should like to know why I've been kept waiting.' 'I'm sorry, but you were at least twenty minutes late —I just had to go without your niece.' 'Late?' He looked amazed. 'I'm never late for an appointment!' Claire made an effort to keep her voice low and polite,

'You were late for this one, Mr. Condliffe. I waited until twenty past ten. Your appointment was for ten -' 'My appointment was for eleven,' he interrupted haughtily. 'You've obviously made a mistake!' Angry colour fused Claire's cheeks, but she still contrived to keep her voice steady and quiet. 'I distinctly remember your saying ten o'clock, and I booked it down immediately after you phoned.' 'I distinctly remember saying eleven.' Despite his obvious annoyance he retained his outward calm in a manner which Claire found most disconcerting. Convinced that she was in the right, however, she had no intention of allowing him the last .word, but even as she opened her mouth to continue the argument an imperious wave of his hand cut her short. 'Tell Mr. Green that I wish to see him immediately upon his return,' he snapped. 'And cancel the other appointments; I shall not be bringing my niece here again.' With a final glance of acute distaste he turned and strode away to his car. Claire bit her lip. A complaint lodged after only three weeks would surely result in. dismissal, she mused dejectedly, recalling those months when she had been searching for a suitable job. There had been plenty of office jobs, of course, but Claire loved to be out of doors and she had considered herself most fortunate to get the post of assistant in Mr. Green's riding school. While inwardly rebelling at the idea of an apology, Claire followed the prudent course and hastened across the cobbled yard, reaching the car just as it was drawing away. 'I'm sorry about this misunderstanding,' she began. 'I could take your niece now—with the next group who are waiting.' She watched his face anxiously, saw to her surprise his expression change to one of

interest. His blue eyes regarded her keenly and she had the most odd conviction that he was trying to read her character. 'Very well,' came the unexpected reply. 'I can spare half an hour.' Claire sighed with relief, and nothing would have induced her to tell him that the other children expected their lesson to last an hour. He insisted on seeing the pony and Claire fetched Dusty, the most gentle and quiet animal in the stable. 'Yes, I should think he'll do,' he said. 'Remember what I told you about" Lindy's nervousness since having the accident a year ago. She must be kept on the leading-rein until I give instructions to the contrary. I'll call back for her in about half an hour.' He turned to his niece, who was getting out of the car. 'You'll do exactly as you are told—understand?' 'Yes, Uncle Simon,' the child returned meekly, and her eyes followed the car until it took the bend by the river and disappeared from view. Claire watched it, too, as it came again into sight, a matchbox toy beside the rugged heights of Loughrigg Fell. An unutterable snob, she concluded, and turned to the little girl at her side, looking down to admire her fragile beauty, her deep gold hair and soft blue eyes. 'How old are you, Lindy?' 'Six,' the child informed her timidly. Claire saddled the pony and lifted her up. 'I ride very well, and I don't need the leading-rein,' Lindy said in the same timid accents, and Claire frowned. The child seemed positively cowed.

'You must have it—at least for the present.' Although not at all nervous of the horse, Lindy was, in contrast to the other children, very quiet and subdued, arid even though Claire had an exceptionally charming way with children, she had the greatest difficulty in putting Lindy at her ease. After a while, however, she did manage to loosen her tongue, and as they turned to come back to the stables Lindy shyly asked if Claire thought her uncle would allow her to come every day. 'That was his intention,' replied Claire cautiously. 'I don't know if he's changed his mind.' 'You kept him waiting, and that made him angry.' There was a slight hesitation and then, 'Did he shout at you? He looked as if he was scolding you, but I couldn't hear from the car.' 'Your uncle isn't very pleased with me, I'm afraid.' 'He gets angry for the least thing,' Lindy quivered, 'and then it's awful.' A worried little frown creased Claire's brow at the desolation in the child's voice and it was some time before she spoke. 'Who taught you to ride?' she asked, forcing a smile. 'My mother.' The soft lips trembled. 'She died a year ago—while I was in hospital. I miss Mummy terribly—especially when Uncle Simon sends me up to the nursery, all by myself. I cry and cry then, and wish I could die, too.' Claire gasped and the angry colour flooded her cheeks. The man must be an absolute brute!

'Have you no other aunties or uncles?' she asked, wondering what had happened to the child's father. 'Uncle Simon's the only one, and that's why he had to have me; but he thinks I'm a nuisance, and so does Aunt Ursula.' 'I thought you said you had no aunties.' 'She's not my aunt yet, but she will be when they're married. I'm going to run away then, because Aunt Ursula dislikes me even more than Uncle Simon does. I heard her telling him that I wasn't the sort of little girl anyone could love, and he said she was quite right, but he had to have me because there was nobody else.' Claire's anger increased; she was appalled by Lindy's words, but at the same time wondered if the child could be exaggerating, for it seemed impossible that anyone could be so heartless. 'I'm sure that's not right, dear. Perhaps Uncle Simon isn't used to little girls, but you'll see, everything will be different when you've been with him a little while longer.' 'He's had me a year—and he's disliked me all that time.' No mistaking the child's truthfulness, decided Claire as she examined the pale face searchingly. She fumed inwardly. People like Simon Condliffe should be prevented by law from having charge of young children. If he didn't want Lindy why couldn't he send her to boarding school? Anything would be better than allowing her to grow up unwanted and unloved. And how anyone could dislike this sweet, shy little girl was quite beyond her comprehension. When they returned Lindy was smiling and looking forward eagerly to her next lesson, but as she caught sight of her uncle the happiness instantly drained from her face.

'How was she?' A distinctly anxious note in Simon Condliffe's voice caused Claire to look up at him in swift surprise. 'Quite confident. In fact, I think the leading-rein unnecessary.' 'Indeed? She was extremely nervous when I had her out a few days ago.' 'But it's different with Miss Harris,' Lindy interrupted impulsively, and then hung her head. 'I beg your pardon, Uncle Simon.' The apology brought a quick frown to his face leaving Claire with the extraordinary impression that his niece's timidity annoyed him. But that was ridiculous when, quite obviously, he was to blame for it! 'Go and sit in the car,' he ordered curtly, then turned to Claire. 'I shall bring her tomorrow as arranged—but I advise you not to keep me waiting. The appointment is for ten in the morning; write it down before you forget.' Flushing angrily, Claire bit back the retort which rose to her lips. It behoved her to be tactful with this man, otherwise she would find herself once again searching for work. 'Yes, Mr. Condliffe; I'll do that.' During the rest of the day Claire found her thoughts continually straying to Mr. Condliffe, and when that happened, Lindy was momentarily forgotten. It irritated her to think of them separately and by the time she reached Meg's cottage she felt thoroughly annoyed with herself. However, the warm, homely kitchen, the delicious smell coming from the oven and Meg's bright smile instantly restored her innate good humour, and she hummed softly to herself as she went into the

bathroom to wash her face and hands. When she came down again the evening meal was on the table; 'Well, dearie, still liking your job?' Meg Hardman, a plump, jollyfaced woman with twinkling grey eyes and snow-white hair, had worked, with her husband, for Claire's father until his death five months ago. Then they had retired, being lucky enough to rent a cottage in Melhurst, the lovely Lakeland village in which they had lived as children. 'Yes, thank you, Meg.' Claire sat down. 'Where's Jim?' .'In the garden—he's had his tea.' She put Claire's meal on the table. 'You had Mr. Condliffe's niece out this morning, I believe?' 'How did you know?' Claire looked up in surprise. 'Mrs. Wilkinson told me; you went past her house.' Meg paused. 'What's she like?' 'Lindy? A sweet little thing.' Then, curiously, 'Do you know Mr. Condliffe?' 'I've met him. He owns this house—most of Melhurst, come to that. A charming man—a thorough gentleman, in fact.' 'I don't think so,' retorted Claire with some feeling. 'And neither does his niece, apparently.' Meg looked astonished. 'You don't like him? But everyone likes him. He's very highly respected in Melhurst.' 'He's the most detestable man I've ever met—and the way he treats his niece is appalling!'

'Lindy? You must be mistaken; Mr. Condliffe thinks the world of her. Whatever gave you that odd impression?' 'Little things the child said. Meg, she's terrified of him!' But Meg shook her head firmly, telling Claire that she had definitely made a mistake. Mr. Condliffe might be strict, but from what she had heard, he had to be. 'Has to be? With a baby like that?' 'Lindy was a minx when she came to him a year ago—quite unmanageable. She had no notion of self- control, and the way she disgraced him when he took her out! It was dreadful. We all felt so sorry for him.' 'You can't be speaking of Lindy?' Claire looked at Meg in disbelief, shaking her head. 'She couldn't be like that.' 'Anyone in the village will tell you about it. She's her mother's daughter, and that's the trouble. Mr. Condliffe has to keep a firm hand on the reins, otherwise she'd break out again.' Meg went on to tell Claire a little about Lindy's mother. She was a flighty, irresponsible girl who had married, against her father's wishes, a fortune-seeking scoundrel who left her just after Lindy's birth. Her brother then made provision for her and immediately after his father's death he went to fetch her home. She refused his offer, changed her address and did not communicate with him again until she knew she was dying. In spite of her faults she had adored Lindy, and consequently ruined her. The result was that when she died— while Lindy was in hospital recovering from a riding accident—she left a spoiled, intractable child who had never been disciplined in her life. 'Mr. Condliffe had a dreadful time with her at first,' continued Meg. 'She'd order the servants about and then fly into the most violent rages if they didn't obey her immediately. If she

couldn't have all her own way she would lie on the floor and scream.' 'I just can't believe it,' Claire gasped, seeing Lindy again, obedient, timid and totally unsure of herself. 'It's the truth; all the same. One of the cleaners up at the Tower told me all about it. Her uncle's cured her now, for everyone says what a nice little girl she has become.' 'Cured...' Claire put milk into her cup and reached for the teapot, an absent expression on her face. 'But at what a cost. Surely there was some other way.' 'I don't know quite what you mean?' Meg looked puzzled. 'In a very short time her spirit will be broken altogether.' 'Won't that be a good thing? If Mr. Condliffe were to relax now the child's life could be ruined. She'd grow up like her mother and probably make the same mistakes, that's why her uncle's so worried. He's only protecting her, crushing inherited vices.' 'Nonsense,' Claire retorted. 'That child needed love; now. Can't you imagine the terrible shock she experienced when she came out of hospital? The only had given her love was gone.' She paused. 'How Condliffe?'

she needs}t must have person who old is Mr.

'Thirty-seven, I think.' 'A bachelor of thirty-seven bringing up a child!' Claire said derisively. 'He should have employed a nanny for her.'

'Lindy had about half a dozen nannies in as many weeks. They all walked out. No, Mr. Condliffe should get married. Little girls need mothers.' Claire hesitated; then, asking Meg if he were engaged, she could find no explanation for her breathlessness in waiting for a reply. 'Not yet, but it's a foregone conclusion that he'll marry Ursula Corwell. They've been friendly for over two years.' A strange dejection came over Claire; it was solely on Lindy's account, she told herself, but somehow the explanation was far from satisfactory. 'This Miss Corwell doesn't appear to have concerned herself much with Lindy. Why didn't she take her in hand?' The old lady's brows rose as she said curiously, 'You're very interested in Lindy ... or is it the uncle's dashing good looks?' 'Don't be silly, Meg; I dislike him excessively, as I've already told you!' 'So you have, dear.' 'I mean it,' said Claire almost crossly. 'He's the most arrogant, illmannered man I've ever met in my life. I think he's—he's hateful!' 'Well, I wouldn't let him see it,' Meg warned, her brows lifting a. fraction at the vehemence of Claire's words. 'Simon Condliffe is accustomed to being treated with rather more than ordinary respect around these parts.'

Claire could believe it, and as for revealing her dislike of him—the memory of those four months was much too fresh for her to do anything so imprudent. She had never had to work before. Whenever she had broached the subject her father had told her, in his customary mild and free-and-easy way, that it would never be necessary for her to earn her own living. But some unfortunate investments shortly before his death, and also failures in other business transactions, had meant the selling of the house and everything in it. Unable to find the sort of employment in which she felt she could settle, Claire had welcomed the letter from Meg informing her of the vacancy at the riding school. That was five weeks ago; a fortnight later she had moved to Westmorland and settled in with Meg and Jim. 'I believe Mr. Condliffe is considering getting another nanny,' said Meg, passing a dish of fruit and cream to Claire. 'He's so busy—I don't think he manages to spend much time with the child. This is such a vast estate—part of the ancient manor of Melhurst. His house is high above the lake; you must have noticed it.' Claire's eyes flickered with interest. The lovely old house perched on a hillside above Rydal Water, a mile or so from Melhurst. Claire concluded that, lie many other mansions in the Lake District, it had once been a peel tower built as a defence against the frequent invasions of the Scots. The Tudor influence was now almost everywhere apparent, although there were some less conspicuous Stuart additions. Part of the beautiful topiary garden, hundreds of years old, could be seen from the heights of Melhurst. It must have superb views, she thought, with Rydal Water below and rising above it the rugged heights of Loughrigg Fell. 'I don't see that that's any reason for giving himself airs.' And, noticing Meg's expression, Claire went on to tell her what had happened at the riding school that morning. 'He may be Lord of the

Manor, and all the rest of it,' she added disparagingly, 'but his manners are certainly not those of a gentleman!' Meg regarded Claire with a shocked expression, then asked if it were not she who had made the mistake. 'You could have got the days mixed, dear.' 'Oh, Meg....' Claire gave a smothered laugh of resignation. 'And I've been trying all the afternoon to convince myself that I didn't!' 'Then you think you might have?' 'With anyone else I would feel sure of being in the right, but Mr. Condliffe has the effect of convincing you that he couldn't possibly make a mistake.' She rose as Meg began clearing away. 'I'll wash up. Must do something to earn my keep.' 'Nonsense. You pay me far too much. Jim doesn't like it at all.' 'I'm sure I don't pay you too much, Meg dear,' Claire put in seriously. 'Things are so very expensive these days. Don't forget that you promised to take the extra pound which I shall get next week, when my month's trial is up.' 'Very well, if you insist—but I don't know what Jim will say.' Picking up the tray, Claire went into the back kitchen to wash the dishes. It didn't matter what Jim said; Meg was going to have that extra money.

When her uncle arrived to collect her on the following day, Lindy was perched on a gate talking to Claire, who was holding her carefully in case she toppled off. They were both laughing, unaware of his presence until he strode over to lift his niece down; the laughter died instantly and Lindy became silent and constrained as she stood beside him, so small, and so ... terrified, thought Claire, a shadow crossing her face. 'How was Lindy this morning?' His voice was clipped, and curt almost to the point of rudeness. 'I'm most surprised at the way she rides; she shows no nervousness whatever.' Claire's manner was equally cold, for this morning Lindy had revealed more clearly than ever her uncle's lack of understanding. He appeared to seize every opportunity of sending her upstairs and out of the way; he spent scarcely any time with her, left her to amuse herself with only the little pug dog that her mother had given her ... and which he repeatedly threatened to shoot! Claire lay awake for many hours that night. It was no use telling herself that it was none of her business; she was the kind of person who could never see a play or read a book without following the characters all the way, long after the book was closed or the play ended. She followed Lindy now, up to the nursery or bedroom, or wherever it was she spent the long hours alone. She followed her into the future, saw her with an aunt and uncle who had no time for her, saw her growing up without sympathy or understanding, and above all, love, a child's rightful heritage. She burned with indignation against the child's uncle, fretted at her own helplessness and finally chided herself for bothering her head with the matter at all. But Lindy and her problems could not be dismissed so easily, and when, a week later, Lindy came to her with quivering lips and dark,

unhappy eyes, she was not in the least surprised at her own deep anxiety as she asked the cause of this added unhappiness. 'That little boy says I won't be able to see you next week.' 'No, dear. I don't work in the evenings now that Mr. Green has come back from his little holiday, and as you'll be back at school, you can't come until after tea.' 'But I only like coming because you're here.' Lindy's mouth trembled uncontrollably; she was very near to tears. 'I don't want to come again.' Her voice suddenly broke and without warning she flung herself at Claire and clung to her, tears streaming down her face. 'I shall never see you again, I know it. It's no good my loving you any more, because something will take you away.' 'Lindy darling, certainly you'll see me again.' Claire was taken aback by her admission. Lindy did not really love her, but she was fond of her, and that, Claire owned, was going to add considerably to the child's unhappiness. Too late she realized the harm she had done. In her anxiety and compassion she had shown too much kindness and affection, forgetting that to a heart so starved as Lindy's the result could be disastrous. 'When you're next on holiday -' 'I won't—I won't, I know I'll never see you again!' She sobbed piteously, not caring about the titters of the other children as they waited by their ponies. Claire gathered her into her arms, spoke to her soothingly and with infinite gentleness, but sobs continued to rack the little body. The tears were stinging Claire's own eyes as, gently, she held the child away from her. 'Look, Lindy dear, I'll ask Mr. Green if I can work in the evenings. Will that make you happy?' The tears ceased miraculously; Lindy's face took on a rapt expression.

'Yes—oh, yes, Miss Harris,' and then, 'Do you think he'll let you?' 'I think so.' Claire knew that her employer would offer no objection—but neither would he offer her extra money. Still, if it made the child happy.... 'Now go and fetch Dusty. I won't be a minute,' she said, and went into the office to book down an appointment. Lindy ran over to the stable and fetched her pony. 'Cry-baby ... cry-baby!' one heavily freckled boy flung at her contemptuously, and a burst of mocking laughter followed from the other children. . 'I'm not!' 'Course you are, blubbering nothing. Crybaby!' 'I'm not a baby. I'm six and a half!' 'I'm only six,' a little girl put in, 'and I don't cry.' 'And she doesn't have to be on the leading-rein.' 'Neither do I,' Lindy shot at him. 'I can ride as well as any of you!' 'Let's see you, then.' 'Yes, come on ... if you're so clever.' They waited expectantly, ready to scoff if Lindy refused. 'All right.' A sparkle entered Lindy's eyes. 'I'll jump that hedge. Watch me!' Mounting her pony, she rode off across the field, just as Claire emerged from the office. 'Lindy, come back!' she called, but Lindy was away, concerned only with showing the others that she could ride as well as they. She

came to the hedge and Claire, realizing what she was about to do, felt almost sick with apprehension. 'Stop, Lindy. Dusty won't jump!' she shouted frantically, racing across the field, but before she was anywhere near, Dusty had thrown his rider into the ditch. Picking herself up at once, Lindy began brushing the mud from her clothes. 'Oh dear, it won't come off.' 'How could you!' After assuring herself that Lindy was unhurt, Claire began at once to scold her. 'You're a very naughty girl, I'm surprised at you!' 'They said I was a baby and couldn't ride,' Lindy quivered. 'I only wanted to show them that I could.' 'You shouldn't have taken any notice.' Claire then tried to clean Lindy's clothes, but the mud was still wet. 'Now what will your uncle say?' 'You won't tell him? Oh, promise you won't?' 'I can't promise when your clothes are in this dreadful condition.' 'Don't you think they'll soon dry?' 'I'm quite sure they won't—not enough to brush the mud away without leaving a stain.' A shudder passing through Lindy's small body, she looked round fearfully, as though expecting to see her uncle's tall, stern figure already approaching. 'He'll be so very angry.' 'Why didn't you think of that before showing off?

Are you quite sure you're not hurt?' 'Yes.' 'Then come along; the others are waiting.' Claire soon relented; Lindy became more and more anxious and frightened, pausing several times to try to remove the stains from her clothes. But it was impossible. When they returned and she saw Simon standing by the gate Claire's own heartbeats quickened on Lindy's behalf. She had placed herself in the middle of the group", obviously delaying the evil moment as long as possible. Her uncle did not at first see her, his attention appearing to be with Claire. She gasped at the alteration in his features; a faint smile played round his lips, a sort of mild indulgence had replaced the coldly metallic gleam in his eyes; she noticed the tolerance indicated by the softness of his mouth 'Miss Harris -' He came towards her, a visiting card in his hand. 'I have a proposition to put to you, and I wondered if it would be convenient for you to call at my house this evening?' 'A proposition?' Claire looked blank. 'What is it?' 'Well, as a matter of fact -' He stopped, his attention arrested. The children had dismounted and taken their ponies to the other end of the yard and Lindy was left high and dry. She dismounted, but stood there, looking down, unable to meet her uncle's gaze. Several seconds elapsed before he spoke, and when he did it was again to Claire. 'How did it happen?' he asked softly, his eyes never leaving Claire's face. 'Well, you see Lindy was trying to—to -'

Claire's words tailed off as she caught Lindy's imploring glance. 'It was an accident,' she finished lamely. 'You told me the other day that you thought the leading-rein unnecessary. Was she on the leading-rein when this happened?' 'No,' Claire was forced to admit, flushing under the incredulous expression that entered his eyes. 'I see -After I'd told you about the accident, warned you that if she were thrown a second time she might never ride again, you disregarded my instructions?' Claire glanced again at Lindy's small, scared face and said defeatedly, 'I'm terribly sorry. I thought she would be all right -' 'You thought she would be all right,' he cut in wrathfully. 'How dared you disregard my instructions !' This was quite clearly the first time anyone had ever done so, Claire thought, judging by the astonishment with which he still regarded her. She apologized again, but her stammered words were lost in his cutting reprimand, her attempts to remind him that Lindy was unhurt swept arrogantly aside. Half an hour later Claire received a week's notice. She explained to Mr. Green, but he pointed out that it was part of her job to see the children did not come to any harm. Her failure to keep Lindy under observation constituted neglect. 'But I had to go into the office, to book down an appointment.'

'I'm sorry, Miss Harris, but Mr. Condliffe refuses to leave his niece in your charge again.' 'Couldn't you take her?' Claire asked. 'She'll be coming after tea next week.' 'What about holiday times? I couldn't guarantee to be always available then,' he said, faintly sympathetic but determined. 'I can't afford two assistants, Miss Harris, and so I've no choice but to replace you.' 'It's so unfair, Mr. Green. I couldn't be everywhere -' 'If Mr. Condliffe were to say that he took his niece away from here because of negligence on our part I might as well close the school.' Claire walked out of the office with her head in the air, too proud for further discussion. What fools these villagers were, treating one man as though he were a sort of god—the supreme ruler of Melhurst. What was the proposition he had been about to put to her? It scarcely mattered now.... Something else, however, did occupy Claire's mind for an annoyingly long time without her being able to find a satisfactory explanation. At last she dismissed that, too, for she must have imagined that Mr. Condliffe's voice, despite its harsh censure, had held an undertone of helpless frustration. His whole personality gave the impression of strength, of the confidence that comes so easily to the high-bred. Helpless frustration ... ? Simon Condliffe would laugh the idea to scorn.

CHAPTER II CLAIRE rode Meg's bicycle along the lakeside, and up the hill, turned in at the high wrought-iron gateway, proceeded along a wide avenue of limes, past ornamental statuary and spacious lawns and around to the . back entrance of Melhurst Tower. The 'Women's Working Party', which she had joined a week after coming to Melhurst, was holding a 'white elephant' sale in order to raise funds for repairs to the church; each member was given an area in which to collect these white elephants and Melhurst Tower came into Claire's. Not being in the least anxious to call there, she had gone to some length to point out to the secretary that as Mr. Condliffe—patron of the living—had already given a generous cheque, it didn't seem right to expect him to give white elephants, too. Money gifts, it appeared, went direct to the main fund, which was in no way connected with the working party and therefore Claire had no choice but to do as requested. She had been out collecting all the afternoon and Meg's little front parlour was literally bulging with what Meg, in her customary forthright manner, described as junk. 'Who on earth is going to buy cracked vases?' she had asked, then picked up a dusty painting. 'I may be old-fashioned, but I'd jib at having that on my wail. It strikes me the folk around here use these sales to get rid of all their rubbish. When's Mrs. Boyd coming to take this stuff away?' 'Tomorrow morning. She would have come this evening, but her husband wants the car.' Claire paused. 'I'm going up to the Tower now. Are you quite sure I won't see Mr. Condliffe?'

'It's very unlikely, dear. Things of this nature will be left to the housekeeper. Go around to the back entrance and ask for Miss Dawson.' Despite Meg's assurance Claire's pulses quickened as she rang the bell and waited on the step. The door was opened by an elderly lady who, although fitting Meg's description of the housekeeper, was so well dressed and beautifully spoken that Claire could not at first believe her to be a servant. 'I'm collecting on behalf of the Women's Working Party,' said Claire, smiling. 'Do come in! Mrs. Boyd phoned this morning and told me someone would be calling. Everything's ready —on the table here.' Miss Dawson indicated a small table on which were piled towels and table linen, some of which were beautifully embroidered. 'And there are a couple of chickens and two dozen eggs. Will you be able to carry them all?' She looked doubtful and Claire informed her that she had a basket on the front of her bicycle and a box on the back. 'I'll just go and fetch it. 1 left it in the yard.' Claire thanked her profusely for the goods—which could hardly be termed white elephants—and went to fetch her bicycle. The linen filled the box and the chickens went into the basket. 'I'll have to come again,' Claire said, eyeing the bowl of eggs, and Miss Dawson reluctantly agreed. 'What a shame! Could you manage if I lent you a bag?' 'It would go on my handlebars, but I would still have to come back to return the bag.' 'I can collect that on Saturday. You will be at the sale?'

'Yes; on the grocery stall.' The bag was brought and the eggs packed carefully into it. 'Are you sure you can manage! Be careful ... be very careful!' The unnecessary stressing of words amused Claire, but she managed to hide her amusement, for Miss Dawson was plainly concerned about her. She managed to get on to her bicycle, but the machine wobbled slightly as she endeavoured to keep her knee away from the bag. Miss Dawson ran to her. 'Shall I send the chauffeur with them?' she asked, eyeing the overloaded bicycle anxiously. 'No, thanks. I shall be perfectly all right.' Claire had reached the drive before disaster overtook her in the form of a large Alsatian dog which came bounding out of the thicket and made straight for her, jumping up and barking loudly. 'Rex!' Claire was already on the gravel, the bicycle on top of her, a sticky yellow mass oozing from the bag at her side. 'I'm terribly sorry.' Strong hands lifted her to her feet, her head was unceremoniously tipped back and a handkerchief pressed to her bleeding temple. 'You've caught your head on the handlebars. It isn't serious, but it's a nasty gash and will probably give you some pain for an hour or two. Are you hurt anywhere else?' 'I don't think so.' Claire gasped, much shaken by her fall. 'You've been very lucky. We'd better go up to the house and get this attended to.'

'Thank you. Oh, the dog——!' Having torn-the wrapping from one of the chickens. Rex was now settling down to a good meal. At a sharp rap on the nose from his master he instantly made off—with the chicken. 'Seems to be the end of that,' Simon Condliffe remarked, but without humour. 'Rex is only a puppy, and a rather wild one, I'm afraid. I should have begun to train him before this, but there seems so very little time for .anything these days.' He took her arm to assist her back to the house. It was an unexpected action ... but not nearly so unexpected as the sudden quickening of her pulse which shook her almost as much as her fall. Entering the large, oak-panelled hall she caught sight of antlers and tapestry, a granite staircase and ornate ironwork, a Coniston slate fireplace over which a coat of arms stood out in raised plaster-work, massive furniture and exquisitely carved doors—and flowers everywhere. Then she was in a surprisingly small sitting-room, with a red-brick fireplace and logs on the hearth; a room with tumbled cushions «and scattered books, snapshots pushed carelessly behind ornaments on the mantelpiece... Simon Condliffe put her gently into a chair by the fire, and then went out, calling, 'Tilda, are you there?' He returned a few minutes, later with a glass in his hand. 'Drink this—it will steady you.' His tone was quiet, yet compelling, and she sipped the burning liquid distastefully. 'Feeling better?' 'Yes, thank you.' It was the polite thing to say, but if anything, she felt worse than when she had first fallen off the bicycle. The lady

whom she had already met came in with a bowl of warm water and a pad of cotton wool. 'My dear child!' she exclaimed. 'What a shame! What a shame ! I knew you couldn't manage—oh, why didn't I send Thomas? Are you much hurt?— you look ghastly, positively ghastly! Do let me bathe your head. Simon, get some plaster—it's in a little white box on the kitchen shelf.' Claire blinked. She must be the housekeeper of whom Meg had spoken, and yet she spoke to Mr. Condliffe like that—and sent him off to the kitchen for plaster! She bathed Claire's head, then Simon wiped it dry and fixed the plaster, his hands gene yet firm, and so cool against her burning forehead. The old lady turned to him. 'You know, it was all my fault. I knew she couldn't manage; I feel so dreadfully guilty. Shall I phone the doctor?' 'That won't be necessary,' he smiled. 'But I'm sure Miss Harris would like a cup of tea.' Miss Dawson looked questioningly from one to the other. 'The Miss Harris?' she asked. 'Yes, Tilda—the same. Now, if you'll make the tea, please.' Claire flushed hotly as she wondered what he had been saying about her. He seemed in no hurry to explain, however, as he threw a log on the fire, then stood by her chair, one hand driven into his pocket, one brow raised slightly, with censure rather than arrogance. Claire felt like a child about to be severely scolded!

'I intended coming to see you in the morning,' he said brusquely, at length. 'I obtained your address from Mr. Green.' 'Oh...!' murmured Claire blankly. 'It may or may not surprise you to know that my niece has spent a most unhappy fortnight, crying herself to sleep and even going off her food. I knew from the first that she had taken an extraordinary liking to you, but thought she would soon forget it. This afternoon, however, it struck me that she has something on her conscience and,' he went on, sternly and deliberately, 'I can draw only one conclusion. Kindly tell me exactly what happened the day she fell off her pony.' Claire glanced appreciatively at him from under her lashes. She had known, somehow, that he would eventually arrive at the truth, but having guessed so much why hadn't he questioned Lindy? When she ventured a tentative enquiry about this Simon's mouth curved in a bitter line. 'Do you think she would confess to the blame being hers? There's no need to put on that expression in order to spare my feelings. You're fully aware that she goes in mortal fear of me.' 'I—she -' Claire fumbled for words. 'Lindy might be a little afraid of you, but to say she goes in mortal fear...' 'It's very polite of you to refrain from agreeing with me,' she snapped. 'But I detest lies, however subtle, and that's why I haven't questioned my niece. I don't want her to He to me. Now, may I have the truth, please?' Useless to prevaricate, but what of Lindy? Simon's frown appeared to have faded somewhat and Claire ventured to say, 'I wouldn't lie to you, Mr. Condliffe, but -'

'I'm glad to hear it.' 'But Lindy - Will you be very annoyed with her?' There was a quizzical lift of Simon's brow. 'Not nearly so annoyed as I shall be with you, Miss Harris.' 'Me?' She regarded him stupidly for a moment, vaguely aware of a strange fluttering at her heart. 'Tell me exactly what happened,' he commanded curtly, and without further hesitation she obeyed. He stood close and she had to tip her head right back to look at him. By the time she-reached the end of her explanation his eyes were even more darkly censorious and Claire quickly lowered her head again. 'Are you really under the impression that there was something commendable in your silence?' he enquired scathingly. 'Allow me to inform you that you're quite wrong! There's nothing praiseworthy in a silence that encourages a young girl to deceit! I can find no excuse at all for your behaviour. It caused me to make a mistake—and I hate making mistakes of any kind. It was presumptuous and,' he added darkly, 'quite unnecessary. For despite your own private opinion of me I do not beat my niece!' A gasp of astonishment escaped Claire at hearing the aloof and dignified Mr. Condliffe speak in this manner. Well, he had brought the matter up, and having nothing to lose, she decided a few home truths might do him good. 'I didn't think for one moment that you would do so,' she retorted. 'But some things hurt much more than physical pain. I know what you'd have done with her—what you'll probably do with her now.' 'Please go on,' encouraged softly.

'Your idea of punishment is to send the child up to her room for hours and hours—with no one to speak to. She told me about her mother—I mean, she -' Claire's confidence was ebbing swiftly under his smouldering gaze. 'When a child is alone for hours and hours——' 'Before you proceed any further I would like to know where you gained the impression that Lindy spends hours and hours alone?' Suddenly flustered, Claire realized that she had no real reason for thinking anything of the kind. Lindy had not actually said it; Claire herself had just taken it for granted, and was now allowing her indignation, and her dislike of this man, to get the better of her. 'I'm sorry,' she said in a low tone. 'I don't know what made me say that. I had no right to. I'm sorry,' she repeated in still quieter tones. 'Sorry!' he echoed wrathfully. 'My niece evidently talks too much. I gathered that when you began to adopt a distinctly hostile attitude to me.', 'Oh, I didn't,' protested Claire, with rather more than necessary vehemence. The severity left Simon's face and he actually smiled, though somewhat bleakly. 'Yes, Miss Harris. Your sympathy is all with the poor, persecuted child ill-treated toy her wicked uncle.' He shrugged helplessly. 'I must ill-treat her, mustn't I?—otherwise she wouldn't be so terrified of me.' Claire shook her head in blank bewilderment. 'Why are you. speaking to me like this? I don't know what to say to you.'

Simon stared at her broodingly for a moment, and then, 'Miss Harris,' he said, a curious shade of anxiety on his brow, 'are you working at present?' 'No....' Claire's heart fluttered. 'I was going back to town on Monday.' Was.... Simon noticed it too; his flickering smile deepened and once more Claire was struck by the softening of those harsh lines around his mouth. 'You appear to know what I'm about to say, Miss Harris. I will tell you now that the real reason for my bringing Lindy to the riding school was because a friend had told me about you, saying how reliable you were.' 'About me? But who was it?' 'A Mrs. Mitchell. She takes her young son to the riding school.' 'Oh yes, I remember her.' 'Knowing that I was looking out for someone to take care of Lindy, she mentioned you, saying you had a certain "way" with children.' Claire flushed and looked down, but a moment later she raised her head again, amusement in her glance. 'It's a wonder you ever came back after that first morning. I'm sorry about that. My landlady convinced me that it was I who had made the mistake!.'

'It was,' he assured her smoothly. 'However, it's of no importance. As regards my not coming back, I never judge on first impressions, and even if you hadn't apologized I would most probably have forgotten the whole episode and brought my niece the following morning. You see, it's very important that I get Lindy fixed up as soon as possible -' He broke off, frowning. 'It was a tremendous blow when, having decided that you were just the person I'd been looking for, I found you apparently careless and incompetent. That was the reason for my annoyance—but I never meant you to lose your post at the riding school. I merely told Mr. Green that if I did bring my niece again she must be put in charge of someone who would regard my instructions. It's no use your looking like that!' Simon added sharply. 'If I did think you incompetent it was entirely your own fault. I'm sorry you lost your job, and I'm apologizing, but it doesn't alter the fact that the blame was all with you.' Not exactly a gracious way to apologize, Claire thought with a grimace, and submitted an apology of her own. To her surprise andrelief his smile reappeared and he said in good-humoured tones, 'We'll forget it, Miss Harris. Will you consider coming here to take care of my niece?' For some inexplicable reason, Claire knew that she ought to refuse, felt herself about to plunge headlong into dangerous rapids from which there would be no escape. Yet she did accept. 'Thank you,.' he said simply, and with gratitude. 'I hope you will be very comfortable here.' She glanced round. Thick rugs on the floor, a large desk in the window littered with papers, a display cabinet extending right along one wall and filled with exquisite Chelsea porcelain.

On another wall hung an oil painting of a man in court dress; he had the fine features of die man standing before her, the cold blue eyes and dark brown hair, the same inflexible jaw and air of polished superiority. His father, presumably, for old Mr. Condliffe had at one time been High Sheriff of the County. Artistic, sensitive fingers resting lightly on the sword-hilt brought her interested gaze back to those of her new employer, and she felt again that firm grip on her arm, remembered the strange sensation she had experienced. A new emotion filled her ... a mingling of excitement and fear, and a curious sense of restlessness. Then she became conscious of Simon's half-smothered and impatient sigh. . 'I'm sure I shall like it very much, Mr. Condliffe,' she said in a voice which held a hint of shyness. 'When would you like me to start?' 'As soon as possible.' 'Sunday?' She blushed again. How eager she sounded! It was entirely because of the child, she told herself. Sunday was scarcely the day on which to start work, but Simon welcomed the idea and there followed a rather one-sided discussion on salary, holidays and other matters which he settled in his usual businesslike way. Then he told her a little of his difficulties during the past year and before many minutes had elapsed she realized that her first reading of his character had been completely wrong. Simon did not mention that Lindy had ever been naughty and undisciplined; he merely said that, in the beginning, he had had little time to spend with her. The estate kept him so busy. Recently, however, it had dawned on him that not only did his niece fear him, but she was actually growing to hate him, and he had decided to try and spend more time with her in an effort to gain her confidence and affection..

'I made the time to drive her to school and bring her back myself— she goes to school in Ambleside and Thomas had previously done it. Whenever she had to go anywhere I took her myself, and I always made an effort to spend an hour with her before she went to bed. Not that it did much good,' he went on bitterly. 'In fact, it was most exhausting for us both.' He didn't enter into details—indeed, to do so was quite unnecessary, for Claire was not without imagination. Simon continued by saying that recently he had had scarcely any time at all to spend with Lindy and ended by expressing—on a distinctly grudging note—, his relief at having found someone whom Lindy really liked. Then, apparently considering he had said enough, he fell silent, glancing now and then at the door as if impatient for his housekeeper's return. Entering with the tray Miss Dawson asked Claire, in her usual effusive tones, if she were feeling better, and then told Simon that he really must send her home in the car, for the poor child could not possibly ride her bicycle. Simon smiled and said he wouldn't think of allowing Claire to ride her bicycle; in any case, unless he were very much mistaken, it needed a few minor repairs. This satisfied Tilda, who, after advising Claire to go straight to bed when she reached home, left the room again. Simon poured the tea, handed a cup to Claire and offered her paperthin bread with lashings of fresh butter. She sipped her tea, watching him as he drew one curtain across the window, and then gave an inward little gasp of surprise as the reason for his action dawned upon her. How thoughtful! Most men would not even have noticed that the sun was causing her discomfort! Yes, she had grossly misjudged him. The knowledge gave her an odd sense of satisfaction, but it puzzled her too. For if he were not the monster she had branded him, why was Lindy so afraid of him? Her uncle

loved her and wanted her to love him, so what was wrong? Claire wondered, her brow creasing in perplexity. When she again looked at Simon he was staring pensively into the fire as though he, too, were striving to discover the reason for his failure. Forgetful now of any animosity she had felt towards him, Claire realized that everything had been against him from the start. In making the child behave, he had lost her trust and affection even before he had gained it. His methods had been faulty; he had gone the wrong way about correcting her, but by now Claire realized that he was a man who could not tolerate opposition, that if he were not obeyed on the instant, he was liable to make things extremely uncomfortable for whoever happened to be involved. On that first day Lindy asked if her uncle had shouted at Claire, so he obviously shouted at his niece, without, in all probability, meaning a word he said. But could a young child understand that, especially one who had been so petted and pampered by an adoring mother? It must have been a terrible shock to her when, coming out of hospital and expecting the love and sympathy of her mother, she had found herself under the stern and disciplinary influence of her uncle. And it must have been a shock for him to discover what sort of child his niece was. Nevertheless he should have tried to understand her better, to show a little more kindness instead of losing his temper and sending her up to her room. For he had certainly done that, and if he had understood the first thing about children he would have known that even half an hour could seem an eternity to a young child, especially a child as lonely and unhappy as his niece. Claire's musings were interrupted by the opening of the door; she turned her head—to watch the entrance of the fattest, most ugly little pug dog she had ever seen. He waddled over to a white lambskin rug and sat down. Lindy followed, hesitating by the door.

Then, her eyes lighting up, she sped across the room and dropped on to the rug at Claire's feet. 'Miss Harris,' she breathed, almost rapturously. 'How did you get here? I've wanted to see you so badly -Oh, your head—have you hurt it?' Claire told her what had happened, assuring her that she had nothing more serious than a tiny cut. 'Are you quite certain?' Lindy asked anxiously. 'You look very poorly.' 'I'm quite sure I don't,' Claire laughed. 'I felt a little poorly at first, but I'm all right now.' 'I wanted to tell you I'm sorry -' Lindy whispered in her ear, then cast a quick glance over her shoulder. 'I've been very wicked and that's why I couldn't find you again.' Her eyes were suddenly misty, and a. small, quivering hand found Claire's. How desperately unhappy the child looked; Claire felt a tug at her heart-strings, but it was immediately replaced by an access of pleasurable anticipation. She would make this child happy—bring these two together. And she'd make a start right away. 'Not wicked, darling,' she said quietly. 'Only very silly. You should have told your uncle all about it in the first place. Go and tell him now—to please me, Lindy.' 'No, no!' Lindy whispered fearfully. 'He'll be so cross; he'll shout at me—and he might even shoot Desmond.' She pointed to the indolent creature on the rug. 'He's so beautiful; I couldn't bear it if he were killed.'

'Is that what you're afraid of?' Having learnt a little more about Simon, Claire could not now believe he would destroy the dog that Lindy's mother had given her, only a few months before she died. 'I don't like Uncle Simon to shout at me. It makes me remember I'm a nuisance, and he never really wanted to have toe -" 'You mustn't talk like that, Lindy,' Claire interrupted, sure that Simon could hear. 'Be a good little girl and do as I say.' 'No—Desmond -' 'Please, Lindy,' Claire urged firmly. 'If you tell your uncle the truth he'll give you a nice surprise.' 'A surprise? What sort of surprise?' 'You'll know when you've told him the truth.' Her glance travelled to Simon, who was looking puzzled. Then, his eyes meeting Claire's, he looked away, and his brow darkened heavily at the sight of the dog. 'But -' 'I shall be very disappointed if you don't. You have nothing to be afraid of. I promise that you'll have a lovely surprise—at least, I think you'll like it.' Lindy stared intently at her, seeking reassurance. 'He won't shoot Desmond?' she queried cautiously. 'No, Lindy, he won't.'

'I believe you, Miss Harris,' she said wonderingly. 'I don't think he will.' Simon had clearly tired of these whisperings, and Claire gave Lindy a persuasive little push. After another moment's hesitation she moved towards him and stood with her hands clasped tightly in front of her, staring at him as he sat in the chair, waiting for her to speak. Her voice, as she poured out her confession, was resolute, and although there was a faintly apprehensive manner about the child, her previous fear seemed to have disappeared. Claire caught her breath sharply, for the child's expression changed in the silent moments which followed. A plea, not for leniency, but for understanding, had entered those lovely blue eyes. Surely, Claire thought, Simon Condliffe would not ignore it. 'I promised you would give Lindy a surprise if she told you the truth,' said Claire a little huskily. 'If she's been worrying for two whole weeks, surely that's punishment enough.' 'Yes -' Simon pushed his fingers through his hair, then, 'Yes,' he said again, more firmly. 'Lindy, you must never be afraid to tell the truth; always remember that.' Unconsciously he slipped an arm around her waist, and Claire bit her lip as she saw the child stiffen and Simon quickly withdraw his arm again. His tones were curt as he told her of the 'surprise''; Lindy stared at him unbelievingly for a long moment, then turned dazed eyes to Claire. 'Is it true, Miss Harris? Is it really true?' 'Yes, Lindy. I'm coming to look after you.' 'When—oh, when are you coming?' she breathed ecstatically. 'Will it be soon?—tomorrow?'^

'Not quite so soon as that, dear. In three days' time—on Sunday.' Lindy was in a state of suppressed excitement for the next few minutes, plying Claire with questions and thanking her over and over again for coming to look after her. But the thought of thanking her uncle never crossed her mind until Claire put in a gentle reminder. Simon received her thanks with marked indifference. He seemed bitterly aware that she had made them solely to please Claire. 'Go and see Tilda about your tea, Lindy,' he said curtly. 'And don't forget the dog.' 'No, Uncle Simon.' She picked it up. 'He didn't annoy you, did he?' she enquired with the artlessness of extreme youth. 'I did as you told me and gave him less to eat and more exercise -' 'Yes—yes, very sensible of you!' he replied briskly. 'Now take him away, there's a good girl.' Claire glanced at Simon oddly as his niece left the room. His lips were actually quivering with amusement. But after a moment he was serious again. 'I don't know how you managed it, Miss Harris. It's the very first time that Lindy has come to me unafraid, and I suppose I must thank you——' He stopped, rather shamefacedly. 'That wasn't very gracious. I do thank you, most sincerely, and think you'll make my niece very happy.' 'You're very kind to say so, Mr. Condliffe. I shall certainly try my best.' 'I'm sure of that.' He paused, and then, 'May I ask your age?' 'Twenty-two,' she told him, a soft flush rising; Simon made no comment though he did raise his brows in surprise. 'Shall I go now?'

'You feel well enough?' She nodded. 'Yes, thank you. I felt rather dizzy at first, but I'm all right now.' 'Quite sure? You wouldn't care to wait a little longer?' Claire shook her head. 'My landlady will be wondering what has happened to me.' 'Ah, yes. I understand from Mr. Green that you're in rooms with Mrs. Hardman. Does that mean you have no parents?' 'Mother died when I was quite small, and Father died some months ago.' His brow had darkened again. He was angry, she knew, because she had allowed him to make a mistake and so be the cause of her losing her job. He felt guilty, and hated it. Changing the subject, he said he would get Thomas to have a look at the bicycle and do anything that was considered: necessary. Just as Claire was about to leave Tilda came into the hall, again deploring the fact that she hadn't sent the things by car. 'You look so pale, so very pale. You will go to bed, won't you, dear?' Claire nodded. By this time she had discovered that she possessed quite a few bruises in addition to the cut on her head; yet in spite of her aches and pains she had an almost irrepressible desire to laugh. She maintained a straight face, however, for Miss Dawson's concern was undoubtedly genuine, even if she did have a most affected way of showing it. If one were ill, and feeling very" sorry for oneself, it would be heavenly to have Tilda for a nurse, she thought, listening

to Simon's deep, indulgent voice telling her that everything "was fixed and that Claire would be coming in on Sunday. The old lady nodded and expressed her approval, evincing no surprise whatsoever; it was clear that she had already been informed of Simon's intentions. 'It will make such a difference to Lindy -' She stopped short as a tall, fair girl in immaculate tweeds came across, the hall. 'Why, Miss Ursula, I thought you weren't coming back until tomorrow.' 'Ursula!' Undisguised pleasure crossed Simon's face. 'When did you get back? There's nothing wrong?' His pleasure became mingled with anxiety as he regarded her through critical eyes. 'No, I'd had enough, that's all. The weather wasn't too good. It's much too early to take a holiday. I really don't know why I went.' Her eyes were on Claire; her gaze, unlike Simon's, was interested and observant. . Ursula noticed all that his cursory glance had missed; the gleaming fair hair framing a small, oval face; the brown eyes, large and soft, under arched brows; the flawless peach-tinted skin and the full, rather childish lips which looked as though they could quiver, with pain as easily as with laughter. Ursula turned a glance of puzzled enquiry in Simon's direction. He introduced them, told Ursula what had happened, and added, 'Miss Harris is coming to take charge of Lindy. I did mention her to you a couple of weeks ago. You do remember?' 'You talked of someone from the riding school. But I understood you to say afterwards that she wasn't suitable?' Simon's eyes suddenly glinted like specks of frost.

'It was all a mistake,' he returned brusquely. 'I have now engaged Miss Harris, and she's moving in on Sunday.' 'I see...' Ursula's eyes narrowed as she examined Claire again. 'We've met before, Miss Harris. Can you tell me where?' 'I'm just trying to think.' Claire smiled and wrinkled her brow. 'I suppose it must have been in Nottingham.' 'Is that where you come from?' Claire nodded, her brow still creased in puzzlement. 'I'm afraid I can't recall -' 'I have it!' Ursula interrupted swiftly. 'You were at Sarah Dowling's party a few months ago.' The mascaraed lids came down. Claire felt a strange tingling along her spine. She thoroughly disliked this girl! 'You were there with your fiance—he is a parson, isn't he?' The malicious undertone was almost imperceptible, but Claire detected it and, raising her head, met the cold deliberate gaze of her new employer. 'So you're to be married.' His tones were frigid. 'You didn't tell me your stay here would be only temporary. I think, under the circumstances -' 'I am not, and never have been, engaged to be married,' Claire interrupted. 'Miss Corwell is mistaken. The gentleman in question is merely a very good friend of mine.' 'I'm sorry; but I did think Sarah said you were engaged.' Sarah could have said no such thing. Yet why should this girl suggest it? It seemed quite absurd but Claire could not rid herself of

the idea that Ursula had deliberately gone out of her way to convince Simon that his new employee had a boy-friend. Simon's cordial manner of the past few minutes had vanished, and when he spoke his voice had resumed its cold and hard inflection. 'You're quite sure? There's no question of your accepting this post as a temporary measure?' 'As far as I'm concerned, Mr. Condliffe, the post is permanent.' Her eyes met Ursula's, and a strange sense, of impending danger quivered through her. Would they ever cross swords? Claire wondered. If so, Ursula would be the one to remain unscathed. Claire was fully convinced of that, and once again that little tremor of fear passed through her.

CHAPTER III THE car arrived just after lunch. Meg, who had been helping Claire with the packing, was unhappily resigned as she opened the door and handed the two large suitcases to the waiting chauffeur. 'It's better than losing you altogether, I suppose, but you might have found a job in Ambleside and stayed on here with us.' 'I tried, Meg dear, you know that.' Claire slipped an arm round her shoulders. 'Mr. Condliffe says I'll be free every evening after Lindy has gone to bed, so I'll be along to see you quite often. Anyone would think I was going to the other end of the world,' she added with a laugh. And then, more seriously, 'Thank you for all your kindness to me, Meg, not only now but ever since Mummy died.' 'You've always seemed like a daughter to us,' Meg declared, blowing her nose vigorously. Simon was out when Claire arrived at the Tower, but Miss Dawson, effusive as ever, took her up to a beautiful pink and white bedroom, furnished, surprisingly, in die modern style. Claire gasped with delight, her eyes taking in the delicately-shaded pink carpet, the white rugs and white satin curtain? and matching bedcover. 'How lovely! Claire's eyes glowed with pleasure as she stood gazing, round the room. This was luxury indeed. 'It is pretty, isn't it? I do hope you'll be comfortable. Let me know if there's anything else you want.' Crossing the room, Miss Dawson opened another door. 'This is your bathroom.'

It was fitted up in the same luxurious style; everything seemed more suited to a guest of honour rather than an employee, thought Claire as, turning, she asked where Lindy was. 'Her uncle told her she was not to trouble you until you'd settled in. I'll send her up in about an hour—if that's all right with you. She wants to show you the garden.' The garden -As soon as Miss Dawson had left the room Claire moved over to the window and stood there for some moments in breathless admiration. The sweeping lawn, sloping gently away from the house, was bordered with flowers and statuary. To the right masses of flowering shrubs were intermingled with golden thuyas, Japanese cedars and other trees which had been planted for the beauty of their foliage alone. To the left lay acres of timbered woods where in the spring daffodils grew wild. Rydal Water, beloved by Wordsworth and all his famous friends, lay gleaming in the sunshine while above it rose the massive plateau of Loughrigg Fell. Claire hurried with her unpacking, for she knew that Lindy would be having the greatest difficulty with her patience. When at last she went downstairs Lindy was squatting on a rug at the bottom. She jumped up excitedly, asking Claire if she could take her round the garden. 'Yes, Lindy, I would like that very much.' The child's excitement grew, but Claire said nothing, and eventually she became more composed, taking Claire's hand as they walked through the grounds. 'Can you swim, Miss Harris?' Lindy enquired as they came to the pool. It was in a charming spot, close by a waterfall on Rydal Beck, and surrounded by decorative water-loving plants. 'Yes. Can you, Lindy?'

'I'm learning at school, and sometimes Uncle Simon teaches me— but not very often, because he hasn't time. Will you teach me, Miss Harris?' 'Perhaps your uncle wouldn't like me to use the pool,' Claire said doubtfully. 'Shall I ask him?' 'No, not just yet. Perhaps when I've been here a little while longer.' 'Are you frightened of him?' Lindy enquired, looking up into her face, and Claire laughed. Then, suddenly, it struck her that she wasn't sure.- She understood him a little now and of course did not fear him, but there had been occasions when his disapproving frown caused her to tingle with apprehension. However, that was not being afraid—not in the way Lindy meant. 'No, dear, but your uncle would think it very impertinent of me to ask him if I could use the swimming-pool.' They had reached a part of the garden which was not visible from Claire's window. Left enchantingly wild, it had an even greater splendour than that nearer the house. The outline of the distant mountain rose to the sky, and below, in its snug little hollow, stood Melhurst Church. The sight of that switched her thoughts for a moment to her friend, Kenneth Rayner. She had received a letter from him only yesterday. He had heard that the vicar of Melhurst was retiring and could Claire give him any information? 'It's time I had a living of my own,' he had said. 'And when you write and tell me of the beauties of Melhurst I feel I must try for the living there.'

It was true about the vicar retiring, Meg had told her a few days ago. Not only first with news, Meg also managed to obtain the correct version—quite an achievement in a small village like Melhurst. Claire wondered if Mr. Condliffe, patron of the living, already had someone in mind—or he might prefer to please the bishop by choosing one of the names submitted by him. However, there would be no harm in Ken's writing to Mr. Condliffe. Claire felt sure that Ken would make a favourable impression if only he were granted an interview. She discussed it with Meg and Jim the following evening. 'I'll write him first thing in the morning. Wouldn't it be wonderful if he came to live here? I've missed him so very much.' Noticing the look which passed between Meg and Jim, Claire instantly regretted her admission. They never had been convinced that she and Ken were just good friends. 'It would be nice,' Jim agreed, knocking out his pipe on the bars of the grate. 'But don't build on it too much, my dear. This is a wealthy parish and news travels fast. I dare say there'll be a good many applicants. Also, as you've already suggested, Mr. Condliffe may have someone in mind. However, go ahead and write to Ken; tell him to come over for a few days, then he can have a look round and see if he likes the place.' He threw a questioning glance at his wife before he went on, 'We'll fix him up?' 'Certainly we will,' agreed Meg enthusiastically. 'I wish I knew Mr. Condliffe a little better,' Claire mused. 'Then perhaps I could have put in a good word for Ken.' But she soon began to wonder if she would ever come to know her employer better, for she saw so little of him. Not that this troubled Claire, for her life had become full and interesting since her arrival

at the Tower. She had been brought up in comfort, but the luxury and splendour of her present surroundings was almost dazzling by comparison. She would spend hours going through the magnificent rooms, each of which had elaborately decorated walls and ceilings, many of the groups of birds and flowers incorporating the family crest. Simon's remarkably fine art collection was distributed among these rooms; choice paintings and beautiful sculpture, costly bronzes and rare china. Though longing to handle the cabinet's precious contents, Claire did not even venture to open the doors. One room pleased her more than the rest; with an air of strange disuse, it was a most charming apartment, with a large window facing the park, and three smaller windows looking down on to the surpassing beauty of the verdant waterside and tree-clad hills. The walls, like those of the other rooms, were exquisitely carved, and hung with fine tapestry and family portraits. Over the fireplace of white marble were gods and goddesses, animals and flowers, all of the most delicate workmanship. The furniture, though not so massive as that in the other rooms, was just as lovely, and looked rather more comfortable. What a pity not to use it, Claire thought, for snug and homely as was the room into which Simon had first brought her, it was not to be compared with this. She later learned from Tilda that the room had always been the private boudoir of the mistress of the house and therefore had not been used since the death of Simon's mother. One of Claire's duties was to drive Lindy to school in the morning and bring her back in the afternoon. Sometimes Tilda would accompany her and they would do the shopping between them before Lindy came out of school. Desmond would lie and dream in the back, stretched out on a rug, emitting strange grunts that could more easily be associated with a hungry little piglet than with 'Desmond of Melhurst Tower', as Lindy so proudly described him.

'My dear I' Tilda would say with a shudder of disgust, 'I do think we shall have to get rid of that dog! It's not only that he snores—as you'll probably have noticed?' 'I have,' Claire nodded, and laughed. 'What does Mr. Condliffe say, "Good lord, that dog wants shooting." ' 'Why, yes his exact words ... you must have heard him?' 'I merely used my imagination.' Claire laughed again, and then, 'Poor Lindy, she obviously believed he meant it.' 'Simon will shoot him one of these days.' 'You don't mean that, Tilda. I'm sure he wouldn't, knowing how much Lindy cares for him.' Lindy did indeed care a great deal about her pet. Bounding out of the school gate, she would jump into the car and immediately put Desmond on her lap. 'Don't you enjoy this nice big ride?' she would ask lovingly. 'It's a shame Uncle Simon won't have you in his proper car.' Then, having made quite sure that Claire was totally absorbed with her driving, she would pick him up, rub his coat against her cheek and whisper, 'Grown-ups are all a bit peculiar. Do you know that Miss Harris won't let me put my face near you? She says you have germs. So you won't be offended, will you, if I only do it when she isn't looking?' Once Claire heard this she had the utmost difficulty in maintaining a straight face. The child might at one time have been spoilt and unmanageable, she mused, but there must have been something very lovable beneath it all.

During the first few weeks at the Tower Claire came to realize just how hard worked her employer was. True, he employed a bailiff, but his own work was arduous. It included the whole of the clerical work, which he insisted on doing himself. Ursula made frequent visits to the Tower, quite often during Simon's absence. There was always a facade of cordiality about her, yet Claire knew instinctively that beneath it lay a strange hostility, the reason for which Claire could not fathom. Sometimes there would be a suggestion of patronage in Ursula's manner, as if to remind Claire of her inferior position. This Claire accepted without rancour. Already her young charge was developing into a normal, happy child; Claire was too gratified by this, too content in her new environment, to concern herself with Ursula's subtly changing moods. One day, having received permission to dispense with the leadingrein, she was jumping with Lindy when Ursula came slowly up to them. Claire dismounted, but Lindy carried on up the field, pretending she hadn't noticed their visitor. 'Does Mr. Condliffe know about this?' Ursula waved an imperious hand in the direction of the three buckets—doing service as a fence—which stood in the middle of the field. Claire shook her head. 'We only began yesterday.' 'You're aware that Lindy had a bad accident?' A hint of colour rose in Claire's cheeks, but she kept her tones polite. 'She is quite safe, Miss Corwell.'

'I feel you shouldn't continue without discussing the matter with Mr. Condliffe,' Ursula said, and Claire's chin went up. Only just in time did she stifle the retort which rose to her lips. Fantastic though it might seem she knew that Ursula was deliberately goading her into a show of temper. But why? Impossible to find an answer, and after a prolonged pause she said quietly, 'I shall see that Lindy comes to no harm, Miss Corwell.' Ursula's eyelids drooped lazily; her perfectly made- up features betrayed no sign of disappointment. 'I didn't mean to interfere,' she said unexpectedly. 'After all, Lindy is in your charge.' Claire watched her retreating figure until it disappeared behind the trees. Then she turned to look at Lindy again, a baffled expression on her face. She'd made an enemy, a determined and unscrupulous enemy, and again Claire felt that tremor of fear which she had experienced on first being introduced to Ursula Corwell. 'Why should she hate me?' she asked herself over and over again, and still the reason eluded her. When Simon approached her in the garden that evening she knew, instinctively, what he was going to say. 'You've been allowing Lindy to jump, Miss Harris.' His voice was crisp and curt, with an arrogant undertone that Claire never liked to hear. 'Yes... I intended telling you, of course, Mr. Condliffe. She's quite safe, I assure you.' 'You should have asked me before allowing her to jump,' he admonished. 'Must I keep on reminding you of the seriousness of

her accident?' Claire flushed with anger. Lindy was perfectly safe, but obviously Ursula had convinced Simon otherwise. 'Miss Corwell felt it was her duty to tell me,' he went on. 'Especially as Lindy seemed far from confident.' 'Far from confident? That's not true! I've never had a more confident child.' 'Miss Corwell is an excellent horsewoman,' Simon informed her in a very soft tone. 'And she is not in the habit of telling lies, Miss Harris.' 'Then she was mistaken,' was Claire's impulsive and spirited reply. 'Lindy took the jump perfectly.' His face darkened and a glint of steel entered his eyes. 'It's quite impossible for Miss Corwell to be mistaken,' he asserted arrogantly. 'And I'm not at all satisfied with the way you handle Lindy. You're thoroughly spoiling her, giving her too much of her own way—and that I will not allow!' 'Miss Corwell told you that, too, I suppose?' The words were irrepressible. Claire stepped back, fidgeting with her fingers and not daring to look up. 'Are you speaking to me?' 'I'm sorry,' Claire's voice was almost inaudible. 'I didn't think what I was saying.' She half wished he would lose his temper; it couldn't possibly be more disconcerting than this quiet, unruffled hauteur. 'In future you'll be more firm with her; you will not allow her to answer you back—and I expect you to consult me more often.'

'But I don't spoil her,' Claire protested. 'Lindy is naturally highspirited, and it isn't a good thing to crush high spirits.' 'May I remind you that, although you are engaged to look after my niece, I have in no way relinquished my own authority? Miss Corwell tells me that among other things you're keeping her up till half past seven. Her bedtime is seven o'clock.' 'But she wouldn't sleep; it's so light.' 'I don't intend to argue with you, Miss Harris. This is my last word on the subject of her bedtime. Is that clear?' Claire looked at him through troubled, unhappy eyes. 'Very well, Mr. Condliffe.' A pause and then, 'I didn't think—-when I came—that you would interfere. I thought Lindy would be entirely in my charge.' 'Lindy will be brought up as I wish.' No need to wonder any more about those visits of Ursula's, Claire thought, feeling surprised and disappointed that her employer should listen to malicious tale-carrying; he seemed incapable of doing so. But perhaps Ursula was one of those clever people who could convey what they wished by means so subtle that their real intentions were hidden. It was a great pity that Ursula could not occupy her time with more useful pursuits. 'I don't want to be compelled to interfere,' Simon went on, with an unexpected sigh of exasperation which didn't match his present mood at all. 'But I shall do so whenever I think it necessary.' 'If you aren't satisfied with me -?' she began, when he interrupted her.

'For pity's sake don't stand there threatening to leave!' he exclaimed, throwing decorum to the winds. 'You know as well as I do that you're good for the child!' Arid with that startling admission he left her to stare blankly after his rapidly disappearing figure. There were a few tears the following evening when Lindy was put to bed at seven o'clock. 'I hate Uncle Simon. I hate him—hate him!' 'Stop it, Lindy—never let me hear you say such a thing again,' Claire admonished sternly. 'You always went to bed at seven o'clock before I came.' 'Well, I didn't like it. None of the girls at school go to bed so early— :—' Lindy's eyes suddenly widened. 'How did he know I stayed up later?' Claire tucked her in, a worried frown touching her brow. To her knowledge Simon had not recently been about at seven-thirty, so he couldn't have discovered it for himself; Claire hadn't expected this to dawn on the child. 'I suppose he saw you,' she said quietly. 'No, he didn't,' declared Lindy emphatically. 'Aunt Ursula told him.' 'Perhaps she did happen to mention it,' admitted Claire after a slight hesitation, 'but he'd soon have found out for himself, wouldn't he?' 'No.' Lindy wiped her eyes on the spotless white sheet. 'I always watched out for him and if I'd seen him coming I'd have run up to the nursery as fast as I could.'" 'So you knew he wouldn't approve,' Claire's mouth curved with a touch of amusement.

'Of course. Didn't you?' Claire shook her head. 'Had I known, I certainly wouldn't have let you stay up.' She tucked the bedclothes in again. 'Lie still and I'll read to you for a little while. There's a handkerchief under your pillow.' 'I don't want it now.' Lindy stared up shyly. 'Miss Harris...' 'Yes, dear?' 'Can I call you Claire? I know it's your name—I heard that lady say it the day we gave her a lift. Do you remember? You called her Meg.' 'Yes.' 'Well, can I? It sounds much more friendly, and I'll say it in a very respectful voice.' Claire hesitated only because she felt sure her employer would not approve. 'Very well, Lindy,' she said at length. 'But only on one condition— that you also remember to be respectful when speaking of your uncle. You don't always, do' you?' Lindy was taken aback. 'Oh! Did you hear us talking in the school yard?' She began to giggle. 'Sally Mountfield makes up names about people, she's awfully clever, and knows all about things,' she went on vaguely. 'It's on account of having grown-up brothers and sisters. She was an accident, that's what she heard her mummy telling their new neighbour. I said accidents were when you fell off your bicycle and

things like that, but Sally said babies who come along when their brothers and sisters are grown up are-called accidents -' 'Don't you want me to read to you?' 'Yes, please. I'm sorry I chattered; I'll be quiet now.' 'Very well, but first, have I your promise that you won't call your uncle disrespectful names?' 'Yes. I'll spit on my fingers and cross my heart I promise never to call him Simple Simon again,' she said solemnly, adding as an afterthought, 'And I won't let anyone else call him that either. Now may I call you Claire?' Claire's lips quivered uncontrollably for a moment. 'Yes, Lindy, you may.' Half an hour later Claire closed the book; Lindy turned on her side and waited expectantly to be tucked in again. 'Good night, Claire.' 'Good night, my pet.' Claire kissed her on the cheek. 'You haven't forgotten that we're going to start on the waste tomorrow?' 'No, dear.' 'And when it's finished will it be my very own?' 'It will.'

'A garden of my own....' Lindy yawned sleepily. 'I think I know a poem about it... '

The 'waste', a narrow strip of land which at one time had been a swamp, was now a dumping ground for every kind of rubbish, from rusty iron bedsteads to old dolly tubs. Claire suspected that most of this came from the farm cottages and felt sure that Simon knew nothing about it. The ground was a long way from the house and hidden from the field and road by thick rhododendron bushes and young fir trees, so that Claire knew nothing of its existence until Lindy, having several times expressed a desire for a garden of her own, had said that she was sure they could make one out of the waste. Unable to ignore her pleading for long, Claire had rashly promised to help her, without even taking a look at the waste. She was more than a little horrified when she did see it, but having once made the promise she obviously couldn't break it. Lindy would have begun right away, but Claire said it would be better to wait until Sunday, when they could perhaps get one of the farm men to give a hand in removing the rubbish. She mentioned it to one of the young men on Saturday morning. 'I'd willingly remove it for you, miss,' he said, 'but there's nowhere to put it.' The man did not strike Claire as eager for a little extra money, but on examining the waste more thoroughly and discovering just how much rubbish had been tipped there, she had to agree with him. 'Can't we put it all at one end and plant something in front of it?' Lindy suggested, kicking at some nettles and squealing when her legs were stung.

'I'm afraid we'll have to.' Idiot, Claire told herself. What on earth would Simon say when he knew? Lindy's dress was already filthy, and 'pulled' from contact with the brambles and wild roses. Her doeskin sandals were caked in wet soil and if she went on like this there would be no toes left in them at all. 'Lindy dear, don't you think this is rather too much for us?' 'I knew you were going to say that.' Lindy's lips quivered and she half turned away. 'Uncle Simon used to promise things and then say he hadn't time. But I never thought you'd break a promise.' 'I haven't broken my promise, Lindy. If you want to carry on with the garden, we'll do so.' What a mess she'd plunged herself into through her rashness; this was an almost impossible task. Claire hadn't the vaguest idea where they would start. , 'But of course I want to. Will you really help me, Claire?' 'Yes,' she sighed. 'But first we must find you some old clothes and shoes.' An hour later Lindy was on her knees, making an heroic effort with the weeds and saying that, as all her spare time would now be spent in her garden, she had better have some trousers and a shirt like Claire's. 'You look lovely in white, Claire—do you think it _ will suit me as well? I'm much fairer, aren't I? Perhaps another colour would be better. My favourite colour is blue, so I think I'll have a blue shirt. Oh, you do look funny! You've just made a big black smudge on your nose!' 'Look who's talking!' Claire retorted. 'You, young lady, are going in the bath before lunch!'

Lindy chuckled. 'Am I dirty, too? It's a good thing Uncle Simon can't see me—— Oh!' 'Serves you right, you should go and find some old gloves. I've warned you about the nettles.' 'It—isn't the nettles, Claire.' Claire, also on her knees, struggling with some old bricks embedded in the soil, scrambled to her feet and hastily brushed herself down. 'Mr. Condliffe! I—we -' 'Don't let me interrupt you,' Simon commented, eyeing them both in some amusement. 'I like to see people working. Er—may I inquire what this is all about?'' He smiled down at his niece. 'What are you doing?' 'Gardening,' Lindy said, and for the first times Claire could have shaken her. No need for that sulky tone, or for her to turn away, almost snubbing her uncle. Simon looked at Claire, obviously perplexed. 'Lindy wanted a garden of her own,' explained Claire, feeling extremely foolish. No one with any sense would try to make a garden out of this. 'We thought this place might do—cleared, of course.' Looking round, he realized what a state the plot of ground was in, and frowned at Claire, as though the responsibility were all hers. 'Who's put all this stuff here? Where has it come from?'

'I don't know,' replied Claire, feeling thankful that his concern with the rubbish had diverted his attention from Lindy's exceedingly grubby appearance. After saying he would see Richardson the bailiff, in the morning, he called Lindy over to him. 'Why didn't; you tell me you wanted a garden of your own?' The emphasis on the 'me' was almost imperceptible, but Claire detected the hint of jealousy in his tone. 'I don't know.' Lindy twisted her neck, looking for Claire. 'Wouldn't you like one nearer the house?' She shook her head. 'It wouldn't be private.' Simon and Claire laughed together; the tension eased, and Lindy's face broke into a difficult smile. 'I came to find you,' Simon told her. 'We're almost strangers, these days.' 'You're always busy, Uncle Simon.' 'I won't be—not after next week. My work is fairly well in hand— for a while, at least. What are you going to plant in your garden?' Lindy's eyes opened wide. 'Do you think it ever will be a garden?' 'Don't you?' 'Oh yes,' she replied confidently. 'But I didn't think you would. You don't think we're silly, then,- to try and move all this, I mean?'

'I do,' he replied, throwing Claire a glance of good- humoured deprecation. 'And I'm afraid I can't allow Miss Harris to take such a heavy burden upon herself.' -1 'I don't mind at all, Mr. Condliffe,' she put in quickly as Lindy's face fell. 'I shall only move it up to that end.' 'If you'll allow me to finish?' His glance, though still goodhumoured, held reproof, and Claire apologized. Then he went on to say that he would have the rubbish removed by the Council and then have several loads of topsoil tipped. 'After that you can take over. Make a list of what you want and I'll order it from the nursery.' He turned to Lindy. 'Have you decided what flowers you would like?' 'Are you really going to do all that?' Lindy's blue eyes widened as she stared up at her uncle in surprise and disbelief. 'Haven't I always given you what you wanted?' 'Yes ... but things to wear and toys aren't like gardens.' Talking to him about what flowers she liked best Lindy seemed to relax even more, and Claire, hearing him invite her to come a little nearer and tell him what she had been doing with herself for the past fortnight, moved away and began to collect up the weeds and put them into the wheelbarrow. For the first few minutes she did not listen to their conversation, but on hearing the words, 'Uncle Ken,' she could not help pricking up her ears. 'Who is he?' Simon inquired with a new interest. 'Claire's friend. He's staying in Melhurst for a little while; that's why he was able to come with us on the picnic. He gave me a piggyback all the way home because I hurt my foot on a thorn and it bled. His other name is Mr. Rayner—but he said I could call him Uncle Ken

because when he comes to live here we shall have lots of picnics together.' Claire then heard Simon's voice, suddenly cold and deliberate, sending a prickle of apprehension down her spine. 'And is Mr. Rayner coming to live here?' 'Oh yes, he's going to be our new vicar.' Claire spun round, her face colouring hotly with embarrassment. 'Lindy has it all wrong, Mr. Condliffe, I—we— weren't counting -Oh dear, I didn't mean that.' With every word Ken's chances were slipping away. 'Please don't think that we ...' 'That you were counting your chickens before they were hatched?' There was a lift to his brow and an odd inflection in his voice. 'I said I didn't mean that.' She looked up miserably. 'We only talked of the possibility of his obtaining the living here.' 'I presume that this—Mr. Rayner is the gentleman Miss Corwell mentioned?' 'Yes... He's written to you.' 'I believe he has.' An unbearable silence followed, Claire wanting desperately to explain, to ask him not to allow Lindy's words to prejudice him; Simon impersonal, aloof and quite unapproachable. He broke the silence, asking her what arrangements they had come to regarding her free time.

'I seem to have forgotten,' he added. 'You said I could have every evening and every Saturday,' she informed him, wondering what was coming next. 'I see; so yesterday was your day off?' 'Yes.' 'There will be no need for you to encumber yourself with Lindy on your day off, Miss Harris. You may leave her with Tilda in future.' Claire began to tell him that she didn't mind at all having her, and that Lindy was thrilled at the prospect of a picnic, but then she tailed off, suddenly enlightened. 'I prefer you to leave her at home,' Simon told her curtly. 'Yes, Mr. Condliffe. I—I won't take her again.' Simon turned to speak to his niece, and a moment later, as she watched him striding away towards the house, Claire knew that Ken's chances of being appointed to the living were nil. What a disastrous thing for Lindy to say! Yet it was useless to blame the child. Noticing Lindy's appearance again Claire felt she herself had come off lightly. There were quite a few other things about which her employer could have complained.

CHAPTER IV SOME days later Simon was giving a small dinner party for some friends; Claire asked Tilda if she could be of any assistance and was given the task of arranging the flowers. Simon entered the room noiselessly just as she had finished, and after a critical glance at the table, he wanted to know what she was doing. 'I offered to help Tilda,' she answered. 'You don't mind? Everyone was so busy... ' 'Where's Lindy?' 'She has a small amount of homework to do, and if I don't leave her alone she invariably manages to persuade me to do it for her.' Claire searched his face anxiously as she said again, 'You do not mind?' 'Not at all.' His eyes flickered over the table once more. 'You've made everything look very attractive indeed.' The praise, unexpected though it was, had no significance when uttered with such stiff politeness. Claire murmured shyly that it was very kind of him to say so and then, picking up the basket and scissors, she moved towards the door. At that moment Ursula entered the room, beautifully dressed, not a hair out of place, poised and confident as usual. Claire felt a tinge of envy at her assurance. She would never be disconcerted by Simon's air of superiority, however formidable it might be. Ursula's eyes scanned the table, then Claire's face, before she turned to Simon. 'I see the flowers are done.... You did ask me to come early and arrange them? I haven't made a mistake?' The languid drawl and stifled yawn reminded Claire of a kitten, though why she had no idea—unless it was because a kitten had claws.

'I did, Ursula, and you should have informed Tilda. She didn't know and so she asked ^Miss Harris to do them. You don't mind, dear? It really doesn't matter so long as they're done.' 'Of course not,' came the quick reply. 'I'm sure I couldn't have done them half so well as this.' Both Simon and Claire glanced at her uncertainly, but she smiled in her most dazzling way. Simon returned her smile, then nodded his dismissal to Claire, who left the room at once. Although pleased that Simon would have remained silent about his having asked Ursula to do the flowers, at that same time she was acutely aware of the deep enmity beneath Ursula's apparently friendly manner, and she was filled with a strange uneasiness as she went upstairs to Lindy. It was not long after this that Claire came to realize that her employer's presence, although invariably disconcerting, also did strange things to her—things which she refused to dwell upon, much less try to explain. She knew that the task of bringing Lindy and her uncle together was going to prove much more difficult than she had at first imagined. In his presence Lindy was always constrained; also, her uncle must be acutely aware of her avoidance of him. And if this wasn't enough to bring about a feeling of dejection, there was Simon's attitude towards herself, curt, aloof and often openly hostile, for he was clearly jealous of his niece's affection for her. Claire felt sure this stemmed from the knowledge of his own failure with Lindy and not because of any real resentment against Claire herself. In addition to all this there was Ursula, whose more insidious form of aggression was as disturbing as it was incomprehensible. Then, of course, there was Ken.... During his first few days at Melhurst he had spoken to several of the inhabitants, gaining information about their likes and dislikes, desires and needs.

'Everyone seems glad the vicar is leaving,' he told Claire. 'He won't mix; he's never been interested in his congregation and therefore has done nothing for the young people or the old. The vicar must take an active part in a small- community like this. So many things are needed—a youth club, football and cricket teams, and some form of recreation for the old people —an "over sixties" club or something like that.' He had gone on and on, carried away by enthusiasm and when Claire had warned him of the possibility of his not even obtaining an interview he told her that the villagers believed Mr. Condliffe made it a point of honour to interview every applicant. 'But he may have already made his choice, Ken. Don't build on it like this,' she pleaded. 'I'm not building, Claire. He may already have someone in mind, of course, but I stand as much chance as anyone else. Oh, he'll be very selective, I know, because apparently he's extremely-cautious. His father made mistakes in other parishes besides this one—Meg told me—and you know that although a patron makes the appointment, nothing short of immorality—or something just as serious—can remove the vicar once he's established. From what I gathered Mr. Condliffe is always most careful in his choice, and that's why I'm so optimistic. Once I gain the interview it's up to me to impress him. And I'll do it, Claire,' he added eagerly. 'I know I can do it.' 'You're building on it, Ken!' 'I'm optimistic, that's all.' Claire sighed, feeling that in some way she was to blame for his lost chances. But to her utter astonishment Ken's next letter informed her that he had to come to Melhurst the following Wednesday for an interview ! She called on Meg to give her the news.

'I can't stay many minutes,' she said as Meg opened the door. 'I mustn't be late for Lindy. But I had to tell you the news.' 'I thought Mr. Condliffe was fetching Lindy now,' Meg interrupted, seeing the car at the gate. 'He has to go out this afternoon, so I'm doing it. What do you think, Meg? Ken's having an interview after all!' 'I said you were worrying yourself unduly,' Meg reminded her. 'Mr. Condliffe isn't the kind of man who'd be prejudiced so easily. Are you coming in for a cup of tea?' 'I haven't time—— Meg, aren't you pleased?' 'Of course I am, but I'm not falling over myself with surprise, if that's what you expect. You might have been working for Mr. Condliffe for a couple of months or so, but you haven't learned much about him. I knew he'd interview Ken; and I think we can safely say the living is his.' Claire stared at her, speechless for a moment. 'How can you, Meg! You're as bad as Ken. There must be dozens of others wanting it.' 'They'll not come up to Ken,' Meg asserted. 'When Mr. Condliffe speaks to Ken he'll know he's the man for Melhurst.' 'I give up,' laughed Claire resignedly, and then, more seriously, 'I do hope you're right. It'll be wonderful if Ken comes to live here; I've missed all my friends so much since leaving.' There was a rather profound pause before Meg said, her eyes fixed on the distant height of Nab Scar,

'The vicarage is a very pretty place, my dear. Very pretty.' 'It is,' Claire agreed placidly. 'Ken's aunt will adore it -Now you have me taking things for granted!' 'Ken's aunt?' Meg raised her brows. 'Do you really think she'll leave town?' 'Of course. She's always looked after Ken. They'd be lost without each other.' She smiled at Meg and added, 'We're only friends, I wish you'd realize that.' 'Well, Ken is so very good-looking, you know, and it's only natural if folks have begun to think -' 'What do you mean?' Claire interrupted sharply. 'He did kiss you at the station when he arrived, and when people kiss at a station like Melhurst the tongues begin to wag.' A vivid flush rose as Claire recalled her embarrassment when Joe, the porter, had grinned so broadly. Although she had forgotten the incident, she had later been vaguely troubled by Ken's attitude. They were only friends, he had said when leaving, but there had been more than friendship in his lingering gaze as the train moved out of the station. And so the incident had come to Meg's ears; did that mean, Claire wondered with increasing dismay, that everyone in the village had also heard about it? Would it eventually come to the ears of her employer? How contemptuous he would be! But surely it could not reach him. Much as he interested himself in the life of the village he wouldn't hear the gossip that went on, for no one would venture to repeat it to him. In any case, why should she be so concerned? After all, her private life had nothing whatever to do with her employer.

In order to reach Meg's cottage Claire had to go about a mile out of her way, and as she was coming out of the lane on to the main Ambleside road she saw Ursula, who was out walking with the dogs. Ursula stared in surprise, then nodded, and as Claire drove on she stood watching her. Claire saw this through the mirror, wondering at the other girl's interest. The reason was made clear later when, coming down to fetch Lindy's doll, which she always took to bed with her, Claire made to enter the sitting-room^ But on hearing voices she stopped, raising her hand to knock before entering. Her hand dropped to her side again, for she heard her own name being mentioned by Ursula, and ,it seemed to Claire that there was a distinctly malicious undertone to her voice. 'How long has Miss Harris been driving a car?' 'I've no idea. Why?' Her employer sounded tired, Claire thought, and remembered he had been in his study the whole of the morning and part of the afternoon, doing his paper work. 'Nothing,' came the careless reply. 'Isn't it convenient, her being able to drive?' No answer from Simon; Claire frowned. What was Ursula getting at? 'She isn't used to our roads, though. She obviously doesn't know about the halt sign at Rose Lane corner.' 'It's there for anyone to see. What an odd thing to say, Ursula.' Claire heard the rustle of papers; sometimes he took some work to the sitting-room and did it in the evenings. But surely he wouldn't carry on working while Ursula was there! 'It's not there for anyone to see. Don't you remember, it was broken by a lorry and hasn't been repaired. We all know there's a halt sign at Rose Lane corner, but strangers could easily make a mistake.'

There was a slight pause and then Ursula spoke with some concern. 'I'll tell her, because I wouldn't like anything to happen. Rose Lane corner's notoriously dangerous, as you know.' Why, thought Claire, with growing perplexity, did Ursula keep repeating Rose Lane—and stressing it? 'I shouldn't let it worry you,' came the unconcerned comment from Simon. 'She must know about the halt sign——' He broke off, then added in a puzzled tone, 'what makes you think she doesn't know?' 'Well...' Ursula seemed reluctant to continue. 'Well, what?' he said impatiently. Another pause. Claire half turned to go, feeling guilty, but Ursula's next words not only stopped her, but brought angry little spots of colour rising to her cheeks. 'She came out this afternoon without stopping, that's all. And you know how high the hedges are in Rose Lane—you just can't see what's coming.' Rose Lane again. And what a deliberate lie! Claire had the utmost difficulty in remaining where she was. 'That's certainly very careless of her. I must speak to her about it. She should have more sense than to come out on to the main road without stopping, whether there's a halt sign or not.' 'What was she doing there, anyway?' So that was it; those words explained everything. Ursula was telling him that Claire had been to see Meg. So this was the way Ursula did it. This was the subtle method she used to do her tale-carrying. Simon wouldn't see through it simply because he'd never suspect

Ursula of being so malicious. Claire couldn't have moved away now. She was too interested to hear what her employer had to say. 'She'd probably been to see her old landlady. She lives in Rose Lane.' 'You allow it!' Claire could sense the older girl's gasp of astonishment. 'This is the first time you've let one of your servants run all around the countryside, visiting her friends.' 'Surely that's an exaggeration, Ursula.' How patient he sounded! Knowing him, Claire would have expected him to be angered by Ursula's words. 'No, it isn't. She probably does it regularly!' 'What of it? I'm sure she visits her friends only when on her way to fetch Lindy, and therefore goes about a mile out of her way. What would you expect me to do—charge her up for the petrol?' 'This girl might almost be one of the family! She's very lucky to have time off in the afternoons. I know servants are hard to get, and that it's necessary to pander to their whims, but this is ridiculous!' The colour heightened in Claire's cheeks and her fists clenched. She supposed it served her right for listening. A servant! There was nothing wrong in being a servant, nothing to be ashamed of, but Ursula' obviously considered servants to be less than the dust! Claire had never been so angry in her life. Surely her employer would put the girl in her place. But to her astonishment he spoke in a soft and tolerant voice, and she could almost sense the smile upon his lips. 'You don't like Miss Harris, do you, Ursula? I can't think why.' Claire heard no more; she went back upstairs, her cheeks still burning.

'Have you brought it?' Lindy was sitting up in bed. 'Wasn't it in the sitting-room? That's where I left it—on the couch.' 'You'll have to manage without it for tonight, dear. Uncle Simon is there, and he's talking privately -' 'But you can go in for it.' 'No, Lindy.' Claire moved over to the bed. 'Down you go, and I'll tuck you in.' 'I do want it, Claire. I w-won't sleep without it.' Lindy slid down obediently, but she looked pleadingly at Claire, almost in tears. 'I always have my doll, you know I do. Why can't I have it?' Claire hesitated, certain that Lindy would not go to sleep unless she had the doll. 'Very well,' she sighed, 'I'll fetch it.' She knocked and waited a few seconds before entering the room. Her employer and Ursula were standing by the fire; Claire was convinced they had drawn apart on hearing her knock. 'May I have Lindy's doll?' She went over to the couch and picked it up. 'She always takes it to bed with her.' Claire moved to the door, her head lowered. Simon called her back. 'Miss Harris, are you aware of the halt sign at the corner of Rose Lane?' Claire looked at Ursula, who was absorbed in lighting a cigarette and did not glance up.

'The stop sign in the road is plain enough for anyone to see, Mr. Condliffe. Why do you ask?' Claire's eyes were still on Ursula, but she continued to avoid her glance. Simon opened his mouth to say something, and Claire expected him to tell her that in future she must regard it. In fact, she felt sure of this intention, but to her surprise, he changed his mind, and his eyes regarded Ursula with the most odd expression in their depths. 'I just wondered, Miss Harris, because the sign was smashed recently and hasn't yet been repaired.' He seemed angry now, obviously feeling his position to be uncomfortable. 'But as you say, the sign in the road is prominent enough.' Claire could not help lifting her chin; she looked straight at him. 'I wouldn't be so uncautious as to come on to a main road without stopping, even if there were no halt sign.' That would give the lie to Ursula's assertion! She continued to look up at him for a moment and then, her head still held high, she turned and left the room. But once outside her shoulders sagged; she felt guilty and depressed. It had never occurred to her that, in visiting Meg, she took a liberty. It seemed such a short distance to go out of her way. Ursula's interference was becoming intolerable; she might be Simon's wife already, the way she concerned herself with his affairs. Claire closed her eyes tightly as if to shut out her unhappy thoughts, but this was quite impossible. The time had come to face the fact that her employer's image intruded far too often into her mind. It had done so, she now admitted, since that very first morning when, after being subjected to a demonstration of his arrogance and anger, she had declared him to be the most detestable man she had ever met. And now ... now what were her feelings towards him? Mounting the stairs, absently smoothing the hair of Lindy's doll, Claire tried to

reject the truth, to concentrate her mind on something else. But the truth fought for acceptance and she had to admit that she was irrevocably in love with Simon Condliffe—a man as unattainable as the stars. Too late to tell herself that he was the type of man with whom every woman could fall in love—and useless to consider the only sensible course open to her, for she would never leave Lindy until forced to do so by Ursula. Yes, Ursula's first act on becoming mistress here would be to dismiss her; Claire had no doubts at all about that.

CHAPTER V SIMON interviewed Ken at three o'clock, and Claire met him at Meg's cottage the same evening, after she had put Lindy to bed. 'How did it go?' she asked eagerly, tossing her cardigan over the back of a chair. She was flushed and warm from hurrying, and her fair hair was awry and enchantingly windswept. Ken's eyes remained on her as she came closer, her own eyes raised enquiringly. 'Did he like you?' 'I don't know,' replied Ken vaguely. 'It was impossible to tell.' 'But did he seem to like you?' He lifted a hand in a gesture of uncertainty. 'I don't know,' he repeated. 'He said he had others to interview, and he also said that he preferred, if possible, to accept a man recommended by the bishop.' 'Oh -' Claire sat down, disappointed. 'Don't you think you have a chance, then?' 'Ken has said, dear,' interposed Meg gently, 'that he doesn't know.' 'You were the one to say Mr. Condliffe had only to see Ken,' Claire reminded her, disappointment still darkening her eyes. 'You thought he had an excellent chance.' 'We still think Ken's chances are as good as any,' Jim put in. 'Mr. Condliffe won't make a decision until every applicant has been interviewed.' And after a pause, 'I'm going over to do Mother's grave. Would you two like to come along? Ken doesn't go back till the last train, so you've plenty of time.'

The evening was cool and fresh after a shower of summer rain and Claire and Ken eagerly agreed. St. Oswald's, built by the parishioners under the leadership of the then Lord of the Manor, Richard Condliffe, was one of the most beautiful churches in the country, dating from the thirteenth century and built only from materials at hand: oak, mud and reeds. 'Look at it,' Jim said, waving a proud hand. 'Seven hundred years old.' 'It's very lovely.' Ken's eyes strayed, for a moment, to a tall, stately house just visible through the trees and then he glanced, sideways, at Claire. But she was not looking at him, for with a gasp of dismay, she had seen her employer approaching, accompanied by Ursula. What an unfortunate coincidence that he should come here tonight! Remembering his cynical remark, Claire felt sure he would again think that Ken was 'counting his chickens'. 'Good evening, sir,' Jim said imperturbably. 'You've come along to see how the repairs are going?' 'It was the right sort of evening for a walk.' Simon nodded to Ken and smiled faintly at Claire. 'All right, Simon, we have met,' Ursula informed him as he turned to introduce her to Ken. 'Of course; I'd forgotten for a moment.' They all moved slowly towards the church. Jim, not in the least put out by Simon's presence, began to reminisce. What times they'd had as boys ... old Gripps, who used to clonk the choirboys on the head with a prayer book ... the time when young Tom Marsden had been dared to ring the bell in the middle of the sermon.

'And Tom never was known to refuse a dare—it was before your time, sir, but old Mr. Condliffe was in church. He told you of it, no doubt?' 'I seem to remember something of the kind.' 'Tom certainly copped it for that!' They were standing by the door; Simon was about to move on when Jim began again. Politely he stopped and listened to several of the old tales that had come down through the centuries; tales he must have heard many times before. Claire was surprised at his interest and patience. Glancing at Ursula, Claire saw that she was bored to distraction, but Simon's feelings were carefully hidden. Managing to get a word in at last, he politely enquired about Meg. 'She's in good health, sir, thank you. Are you going inside now, sir? They're getting on, but it's a shame those old beams have to be taken out. Nothing they can put in will be the same.' He shook his head sadly, and then, telling Claire that he'd be back in half an hour, he bade Simon a respectful good night and hurried away, a fork and trowel under his arm. Claire felt as though she and Ken had been left high and dry, and she was relieved to see Ursula walk into the church. Simon did not follow, but stood talking to Ken about the extent of the repairs needed. It was thought at first that a few hundred pounds would put the damage right, but now that work had begun, more and more of the oak beams were found to be affected by the death-watch beetle. 'Three thousand pounds at least will be needed,' he said. 'Can that much be rafted in such a small place?' 'I think so. It's really quite amazing what our people can do.' He paused. 'You've been inside the church?'

'Yes, sir. It's very beautiful, and most interesting.' Simon turned to Claire, surprising her by his manner and his smile. 'Have you tried your hand at lifting the lid of the old oak chest?' 'There was a lock on it when I came a few weeks ago. I wanted to very much, though.' 'There shouldn't be a lock on it.' A slight frown creased his brow. 'I think you must be mistaken.' He paused for a moment and then surprised her further by saying they would go into the church and find out. There was no lock on the chest now; Simon's glance clearly invited a trial of strength, and Claire, flushing slightly in the knowledge that three pairs of eyes were watching her, struggled valiantly with the great iron ring which in itself was enough for any girl to lift. 'I can't do it,' she gasped at length, shaking her head. 'Then you'll never be a farmer's wife,' Ken teased. 'Isn't that right, Mr. Condliffe—unless a girl can throw back the lid with one hand she's not suited to be a farmer's wife?' 'That is correct,' he returned gravely.. 'With one hand?' Claire exclaimed indignantly. 'That's impossible. You couldn't do it!' She had meant Ken, of course, but as she straightened up she came face to face with Simon. 'No, I can't do it,' he admitted. 'Not with one hand—nor can anyone else.' Claire tried again. If only she could lift the lid half an inch...

'Miss Harris takes the story so very seriously that one would think her anxious to be a farmer's wife.' Ceasing her efforts abruptly, Claire still held the ring and kept her head bent. Her colour had heightened swiftly at Ursula's suave remark, and if she looked up now they would all be aware of it. A most unbearable silence followed; .then she was aware of someone behind and above her, cool hands beside hers—and the lid was slowly lifted up. Simon would never know the relief he brought her. Was it possible that he had sensed her embarrassment? His action seemed exceptional and there was a strange unfathomable quality in his voice as he said, 'You don't mind if we cheat, do you?' Any remaining tension was cleared by the laughter that followed. Claire responded rather shakily, and then, as her eyes met Ursula's, the laugh died on her lips. Jealously? It was impossible! Ursula turned away abruptly, and was soon joined by Simon, who bent down to examine an oak pillar that had been removed and was lying on the floor. 'Practically eaten away,' he observed, straightening up again and turning to Ken. The two men moved about the church, examining other wood which had been damaged in the same way, and Claire was astonished at Simon's attitude towards Ken. He was always so stiff, so aloof. She had never seen him unbend as on this occasion. Could it be that he was favourably impressed with Ken? They all drifted out again and after a while Ursula, stifling a yawn, reminded Simon of the time. 'Have we been here so long?' Ken exclaimed. 'What can Jim be doing?'

'Gossiping, I expect,' Claire submitted with a smile. 'I saw an old friend of his go down as we came in.' 'Then we'd better go to him.' Ken turned. 'Good night, Mr. Condliffe.' 'Good night, Mr. Rayner. I shall be writing to you.' 'Thank you, sir.' Ken tucked his arm through Claire's; she saw the strange glint which entered her employer's eyes and was reminded of Ursula's deliberate attempt to convince him that she and Ken were engaged. She herself had denied it, but supposing Simon should begin thinking about it? He had made a point of asking whether she were taking on the post of nanny as a temporary measure. Claire felt suddenly depressed. If her employer thought for one moment that she and Ken were contemplating marriage then assuredly he would never make it easier for them by giving Ken the living here. They strolled slowly from the churchyard, and all the time Claire was intensely conscious of Simon's eyes following them, and once again she felt convinced that Ken's chances of success were nil. She went to the station with Ken, but made sure there would be no kissing incident this time for the porter to discuss with the villagers. 'I'll write as soon as I hear anything,' Ken promised, leaning out of the window as the train moved slowly away from the platform. 'But I'll be here again soon in any case. Meg and Jim have offered to put me up any time I want to come.' 'Yes, do come again soon. Goodbye, Ken.' Claire took the path alongside the river; as she rounded the spur Melhurst Tower came into view, high above the lake. Behind the house rose Nab Scar, backed by Heron Pike and Rydal Fell. From

Rydal Head the beck came tumbling down, like a silver spray in the moonlight. Far to the left of the Tower there lay another mansion, Ursula's home. Her father owned many hundreds of acres there, and his land adjoined that of Simon. So, convenient for Ursula and Simon to marry, thought Claire, recalling what Tilda had told her about Mr. Cornell's recent illness. His heart was failing and Tilda had said he could no longer take an active part in the running of the estate. 'It's become rather neglected lately,' Tilda had said with a faint sigh of regret. 'It's a pity Simon and Miss Corwell don't get married. Simon is so efficient; he'll soon have everything in order again.' Claire had enquired, with difficulty, how long her employer and Ursula had known each other. 'All their lives—Miss Cornell's a little younger than Simon; she'll be thirty-four—yes, that's right. It's certainly time they thought of marriage—if they intend having a family.' 'I suppose it is.' Claire swallowed hard. 'I wonder why they aren't married. There seems no reason why they should wait.' Tilda hesitated a long while, then all at once adopted a confiding air. 'I don't know a lot about it, but I'm quite sure it's because of Lindy.' 'Lindy?' 'Well—— You won't repeat this to anyone, will you, dear?' she said, looking at Claire and waiting for her promise. Claire obliged, forced to smile. So many folks in the village would insist on such a promise before going on to relate some spicy item of gossip. 'You see,' Tilda continued, satisfied that her information would never be passed on, 'I once heard Simon saying to Ursula that he wished she could take to Lindy, for the child was badly in need of a mother.

Ursula said that Lindy was not the sort of- child anyone could love—and I must admit she was a very naughty little girl at that time; but perhaps you know all about it?' 'Meg did tell me of some difficulty, yes.' 'I suppose it is hard for a woman to bring up another woman's child, but I'm sure they'd be married if only Ursula would try to love Lindy.' 'But surely Mr. Condliffe -What I mean is, he wouldn't marry just to give Lindy a mother?' Didn't he want love, then? Claire had to own that he was the type of man who could probably do without it, who could in fact make a success of a marriage of convenience. He seemed inherently cold, and although she now knew he felt a certain amount of love for his niece, she could not imagine his being possessed of any deep and passionate love for a woman. 'Oh no, dear, you mustn't misunderstand me. I'm sure Simon thinks a lot about Ursula, but I also believe he's afraid that if he marries her she won't make a good mother to Lindy.' She paused as if undecided, then went on to give Claire a few more intimate details about Simon and Ursula. Ursula had always been very frail, and after a long illness she had gone to the south of France to live with an aunt. So although she and Simon had always been neighbours, the friendship had not developed until two years ago when, fully recovered, she had returned to Melhurst. 'I wondered at first whether Simon was really serious,' Tilda went on. 'Ursula obviously was—and I expect Simon knew it. He began taking her out, and having her here quite a lot, but I always wondered if he were just being kind, on account of all her sufferings.' She went on to tell Claire about Lindy's arrival at the

Tower. Tilda felt sure that Simon had asked Ursula to marry him then, because that was when she, Tilda, had heard him saying that Lindy needed a mother. Tilda had suspected that Ursula had suggested boarding school for Lindy, but that Simon had firmly dismissed the idea. He hadn't taken the easy way out, then, mused Claire, with an odd little access of satisfaction, while at the same time recalling her own belief that boarding school would be preferable to the life the child was leading at that time. It all went to show just how mistaken one could be and how unwise it was to judge without first considering all the details. 'They will—they will eventually marry, though?' Claire had to force out the words, and she felt sure her cheeks were stained, but to her relief it passed unnoticed by Tilda who exclaimed, in her customary effusive tones, 'Nothing so sure, dear—nothing! And perhaps it won't be so long now that you're here, for I do know that Simon thinks you're simply marvellous with Lindy!' Claire thought of her earlier conviction . that Ursula's first act on her marriage to Simon would be to give her notice to go ... but would Simon let her do that? He'd certainly be against her going, she knew —but would she want to stay once Ursula and Simon were married? As Tilda went on to remark again on Mr. Cornell's illness, expressing the hope that the marriage would take place before the estate became too neglected, Claire wondered how long it would be before the terrible decision was forced upon her. Either she must remain, enduring the heartache of seeing Simon as Ursula's husband, or she must go away and leave Lindy to the mercies of a stepmother who hated her.

Claire's musings occupied her mind all the way from the station and .by the time she reached the narrow pathway leading from the lakeside up to the Tower she was feeling thoroughly dejected, her pleasure at seeing Ken submerged by the unhappy prospect of the upheaval that was shortly to affect both her own life and also that of Lindy. Try as she would, Claire could not shake off this dejection, and when the following day after tea Lindy asked her to go into the garden to play hide-and-seek, it was all she could do not to refuse. Rex, still not past the playful stage, kept on revealing Lindy's hiding place by standing with her and barking loudly. 'Go away, Rex!' she almost screamed, and Claire stopped, her brow creasing in puzzlement. Neither of them saw Simon by the window, or knew that he had opened it, trying to discover what the noise was all about. 'Thomas,' shouted Lindy imperiously to the chauffeur, who happened to be coming along on his way to the garage, 'take Rex and fasten him up!' Claire could only stare at Lindy in blank astonishment. The chauffeur stopped, also amazed. 'I'm afraid I haven't a minute to spare just now, Miss Lindy. The car lights have fused and your uncle wants it for half past six.' 'Do as I tell you!' 'Lindy!' Claire went towards her, scanning her face critically. 'You mustn't speak to Thomas like that!' Could the child be ill? she wondered. 'I'll fasten Rex up if you really wish it, but he's only playing, as he always does.'

'Then why doesn't he show me where you're hiding?' Lindy snapped peevishly. 'Well, why doesn't he!' 'You're in a very bad temper, Lindy: What's the matter?' The child was sickening for something, Claire realized it immediately. Before she could speak again, however, Simon appeared. He called Thomas, then glared at his niece who, to Claire's surprise, didn't seem in any way put out by his anger. 'Apologize to Thomas this instant,' he ordered. 'And never dare to speak to him like that again!' Thomas moved uncomfortably, and mumbled something like, 'It doesn't matter, sir.'. 'I only asked him to fasten Rex up—there's nothing wrong in that!' said Lindy, throwing her uncle a militant glance. 'Lindy!' Claire gasped. 'You mustn't speak like that to your uncle -' 'Leave this to me. Miss Harris! Lindy, do as I tell you!' 'I only asked him to fasten Rex up,' she repeated, stamping her foot. 'I won't apologize, so there!' And, suddenly bursting into tears, she ran to Claire. But Simon caught her by the elbow, pulled her away and shook her thoroughly. Claire, convinced that Lindy's behaviour was prompted by something other than childish petulance, pleaded urgently, 'Don't, Mr. Condliffe. Lindy's ill; she wouldn't act like this otherwise.' 'She's never acted like this before!' He threw her a smouldering glance, forgetting for the moment that he wasn't speaking the truth.

'I consider you entirely responsible for this exhibition. Kindly allow me to handle Lindy in my own way!' 'But she's ill, I tell you -' 'Nonsense!' He had to drag the protesting child towards Thomas, who by this time was heartily wishing he had obeyed her command, insolent though it had been. 'Say you're sorry.' Simon's voice vibrated with anger. 'Say you're sorry, or I'll -' In spite of the fact that she was trembling herself, Claire went over to the child. 'Lindy is ill, Mr. Condliffe, I know she is,' and, bending down, she murmured soothingly, 'Lindy darling, you must apologize to Thomas. Now do it quickly, to please me.' A most disastrous thing to say! Too late Claire saw her mistake. 'Miss Harris, I've told you to leave this to me! Lindy shall apologize because I order her to do so, and not because you think fit to plead with her!' His face was pale with fury, but there was something else in his expression, something which caused Claire's heart to sink. He was seeing Lindy as the child who had first come to him, illmannered, defiant and arrogant. He was putting the entire blame oh her, considering she'd been too lenient with the child. And, as if to add to her dejection, Claire began to wonder if Ursula, in her successfully subtle manner, had ever hinted that she was too lax with her charge. If so, then this exhibition of Lindy's would prove to Simon that Ursula was right. 'And as for her being ill, that's sheer nonsense. She was perfectly all right five minutes ago!' This was correct and Claire could only say, lamely,

'It has just come on—but look at her face. You can see she's ill.' 'Her face is red with temper—but I'll soon cure that,' he added grimly, and Claire in desperation took the risk of nudging her. Lindy looked up and Claire nodded slightly, hoping her action would pass unobserved. At last Lindy apologized, and receiving a nod of consent from Simon, Thomas retreated in some, haste, and with obvious relief. Simon still held on to Lindy, urging her unceremoniously along towards the house. 'I want a few words with you, Miss Harris. Come into the sittingroom.' Wondering whether she was about to lose her job, Claire felt the tears behind her eyes. It was all so unfair. The situation had been fraught with difficulties from the start; Ursula's treacherous spying and reporting to Simon; his own interference, and now this unaccountable outburst from Lindy herself. And yet it was not unaccountable, she reflected, glancing anxiously at Lindy's burning cheeks. Simon showed no sign of relenting as he stood by the fireplace, his stern gaze fixed on his niece. 'Are you ashamed of yourself, Lindy?' 'It was Rex's fault,' she said, her lips pouting truculently. 'Answer my question.' Lindy was dumb; the tears threatened again. 'Very well.' He sighed impatiently. 'Tomorrow is Saturday. You will stay in the nursery for the whole of the day.' 'No!' Claire protested. 'Not that.'

'Go and tell Tilda to put you to bed,' he said, ignoring Claire's plea. Lindy began to cry bitterly. 'I want Claire!' 'Do as you're told!' Lindy's temper subsided; Claire saw the meek, frightened little girl she had first known. 'May Claire come up afterwards?' pleaded Lindy in a very small voice. 'No, she may not.' Simon's voice was quieter now, but his lips were taut and his gaze dark and cold as ice. Lindy's eyes blazed and Claire caught her breath. She found it quite impossible to stand there and risk another outburst. 'You're not very well, Lindy. Go to bed, dear, and I'll come to you first thing in the morning.' She bent her head to kiss the wet, hot cheek, acutely aware of her employer's hostile glance, and Lindy's quick obedience afforded her scant satisfaction. Simon would think her authority more effective than his, and that would only strengthen his animosity towards her. When his niece-had left the room he asked Claire to sit down. 'What have you to say about this disgraceful affair?' Claire shrugged helplessly; she had said Lindy was ill. What more was there to say? 'She—she must be sickening for something,' she persevered, 'otherwise she wouldn't have dreamed of speaking to Thomas like that. I know she's ill, Mr. Condliffe.'

'Ill...? That's merely an excuse calculated to cover up your own inefficiency. I happened to be watching you both. Lindy was perfectly all right until she lost her temper over the dog—a thing she would never have done before you came, at least, not recently.' The injustice of that stung, and Claire spoke quickly, without any attempt at caution. 'You complain so often, Mr. Condliffe, that I can't believe you're in any way satisfied with me -' She stopped, thinking of Lindy, sobbing upstairs, ill and desperately wanting sympathy and attention. This retaliation to her employer's injustice was asking for dismissal and that was the very last thing she wanted. For the child's sake Claire apologized. 'I'm sorry, Mr. Condliffe,' and then a little sigh escaped her. 'I can't be as strict with Lindy as you are. She's such a lovable child.' 'Lovable?' he echoed. 'I've never found her lovable! On the other hand, she's not usually insolent. She made a fool of me before my chauffeur—refusing to obey me. Do you expect me to tolerate that, Miss Harris?' And, without giving her time to reply, 'I blame you entirely; I said I wouldn't have her spoiled, and you've spoiled her so thoroughly that she's not only rude to the servants, but to me as well!' 'This is the first time——' she began. 'You're quite sure of that?' His brows were raised. Claire understood at once. 'I don't care what Miss—what you've been told: this is the first time I've heard Lindy speak like that to anyone.' 'Then it will be the last,' he returned with a note of finality.

'Are you sending her to boarding school?' His brows shot up. 'What gave you that idea?' 'Perhaps something in your tone....' 'I am contemplating neither boarding school for her nor dismissal for you, Miss Harris. But obviously you're at liberty to leave if you wish.' Claire was convinced that his tones held a note of anxiety and she suddenly remembered his words, 'You know as well as I do that you're good for the child.' Did he still think so—after all that had happened? 'I don't want to leave, Mr. Condliffe.' She gave an inaudible sigh of relief. 'But I find it very difficult to do my job efficiently when you—you -' 'Interfere?' he finished smoothly. He had his temper well under control now, but his voice was still grim and, Claire thought, rather dejected. 'It does undermine one's confidence if one's employer is always complaining,' she told him, on a faintly apologetic note. 'I told you I meant to have Lindy brought up my way,' was Simon's quiet rejoinder. 'As for complaining—I think you will agree I had plenty of reason this evening?' Claire did not reply. Several times she had tried to offer him the only possible explanation for Lindy's conduct. To repeat it again would be useless.

'There are things which you don't understand, Miss Harris. I can only say again that I want Lindy brought up in the way I think best.' Claire did understand. He was thinking of his sister and the mistakes she had made. Was Lindy's childhood to be ruined because of her mother's waywardness and lack of responsibility? 'You once told me you knew nothing about children,' she ventured. 'Couldn't you give Lindy into my sole charge? I would promise not to spoil her in any way.' She met his gaze with sincerity and earnestness, but they seemed to be totally lost on him. 'So you want Lindy all to yourself? You would like to keep her away from me altogether?' Her eyes widened in black bewilderment. 'I don't understand you,-Mr. Condliffe. Lindy is your niece and therefore -' 'Ever since you came here you have elected to keep Lindy away from me as much as possible -No, please don't interrupt. I fully realize that she both fears and dislikes me. Nevertheless, as you say, she is my niece, and as she must necessarily spend many more years under my roof it's essential that she be given a chance to develop at least some sort of liking for me.' His tone, edged with bitterness, revealed again his jealousy of Lindy's affection for Claire. 'But I've never kept Lindy away from you,' Claire hotly denied. 'She can come to you whenever she likes.' The trouble was that Lindy rarely did wish for her uncle's company, but Claire could scarcely tell him that. 'Don't trouble to deny it. It's far too obvious.'

'I'll make sure she spends more time with you in future,' Claire promised, and then, 'Will you let me have sole charge of her?' 'I will not, Miss Harris! I shall interfere whenever I find it necessary.' You've said you can't be strict with her, therefore I shall punish her whenever I consider it necessary.' An angry retort rose to Claire's lips; she wanted to tell him that Lindy needed understanding, not punishment, that he would never gain her love by the methods he meant to adopt. But she refrained, feeling defeated, unable to cope with anyone as stubborn and determined as Simon Condliffe, and all she said was, 'May I go in to Lindy—just for a moment or two?' 'No, Miss Harris -' 'But if she's unwell,' she broke" in, distressed. 'I really must -' 'You will not go in to Lindy tonight!'

CHAPTER VI THERE was nothing sulky or mutinous about Lindy the following morning when, a housecoat flung over her nightdress, Claire entered her room. The bedclothes were disarranged, the cover lay on the floor, and after one feeble effort to raise herself Lindy sank back on to the pillow. 'Don't leave me, Claire.' The pathetic little whisper caught at her heartstrings. 'I've waited so long—all through the dark time.' 'Darling, you should have called me.' Claire fixed the bedclothes and tucked them in, eyeing Lindy's face with growing concern. 'Don't go away,' whimpered Lindy, placing damp fingers on Claire's hand. 'I want you to stay.' 'I'll be back in a few moments; but I must tell Uncle Simon, so he can phone the doctor.' 'I don't want Uncle Simon, and I don't want the doctor.' 'You must have the doctor. Lie still, darling; I shall be back in a very short while.' Simon was moving about and immediately Claire knocked on his door it was opened. He was in a dressing-gown, his hair attractively falling on to his forehead, an anxious expression crossing his face as he saw Claire. 'Lindy...?' Claire nodded. 'Measles, I think,' she said, and he had the grace to apologize at once.

'You were right, after all; she was sickening for something. I should have known it. I'll come at once.' Claire went to her own room, dressed hurriedly and joined Simon at Lindy's bedside. 'Where's Claire?' Lindy was asking fretfully. 'I only want Claire.' 'Claire's here now; she'll stay with you while I fetch the doctor.' His use of her name came so naturally that although it brought a hint of colour to Claire's cheeks, she felt in no way embarrassed. Simon rose, his customary arrogance gone; he seemed human for the first time since she had known him. He was clearly a very troubled uncle anxious for the niece whom he obviously loved, but who, it would appear, in no way returned that love. Lindy grew steadily worse as the days passed and at the end of a week the doctor himself seemed troubled. At the end of a fortnight his face was grave indeed as he spoke to Simon and Claire in the hall. 'Lindy seems to have something on her mind.' 'I don't understand.' Simon looked astonished. 'What could she have on her mind?' The doctor paused for a moment, thoughtfully. 'Do you spend much time with her?' he asked, picking up his hat. 'I know you're a very busy man, but...' 'I spend as much time as possible with her.' Simon's puzzlement increased. 'Why do you ask that?'

'I think she would improve if you could manage to spend a little more time with her. She needs you, you know,' the doctor added, looking squarely at Simon. 'You're wrong.' Simon's face broke into a difficult and bitter smile. 'My niece has Miss Harris here; she doesn't need me.' The doctor's glance became shrewd; he had heard, as had everyone else in the village, about Simon's initial difficulties with his niece. 'I'm quite sure you're wrong,' he returned with conviction. 'You are the child's only relative and although I'm sure she's very fond of Miss Harris, it's natural that she should want you to be with her at a time like this.' He then glanced from Simon to Claire, bade them a brief good morning, and after promising to call again later in the day, he let himself out of the house. Simon frowned at the closed door, then turned to Claire, bitterness again entering his eyes. 'The doctor's mistaken, isn't he? It's you she prefers.' And he turned abruptly away, leaving Claire to return to Lindy alone. Some time later he entered quietly. Claire was sitting motionless on the bed and Lindy's thin white hand was tightly clasped in hers. 'You must get some rest or you'll be ill yourself,' he said shortly as Claire turned. Lindy turned at the same time ... but away from her uncle." 'Is it Uncle Simon?' she asked petulantly. 'Tell him to go away. I only want you, Claire. Please don't go.' Unable to bear Simon's expression, Claire bent to smooth the hair from Lindy's forehead. She felt utterly defeated, for there seemed no possibility at all of ever bringing these two together. And yet why

was Lindy so afraid of her uncle, so timid in his presence? True, he spoke sharply to her sometimes, but, contrary to Claire's first impression, he was never actually unkind to her. Claire remembered something her father once said to her, 'Beat a puppy and you'll never gain his affection, no matter how kind you are to him afterwards,' and thought it must be rather like that with Lindy. Through ignorance and inexperience Simon had treated her unkindly at first, and it seemed as if she would never forget it. Claire sighed, then said softly, 'I must go now, dear, and have a wash and tidy up.' 'No—no, don't leave me!' 'Uncle Simon will stay with you till I come back -' 'I'll send Tilda up,' he snapped. 'The child doesn't want me—you know that!' Claire raised her head; her eyes were far too bright and she saw his own eyes widen in surprise. 'I'm so sorry,' she began, 'so very sorry——' 'There's no reason why you should apologize,' he broke in bitterly. 'It's my. own fault—I should have been more patient, tried to understand her better, I know that now. I made no effort to understand her feelings, made no allowance for her loss.' He shrugged helplessly. 'It's too late now.' Lindy lay there, white and still, her eyes frozen as they stared fixedly at her uncle. He turned abruptly, but as he opened the door Lindy burst into bitter, uncontrollable weeping. 'You see? He doesn't really want me—he doesn't want to stay with me,' she sobbed; and Simon strode quickly back to the bed.

'But you said you didn't want him, darling.' 'Only because I knew he didn't want to stay with me -' She broke off, shaking with sobs. 'I'm a nuisance and—and he never wanted me to come here.' 'Of course I want you—and I'll stay with you now.' He spoke with urgent assurance, yet his voice seemed to hold a plea for acceptance. 'I'll stay with you for as long as you wish,' he murmured gently, and Lindy's eyes opened very wide. 'You sound as if you really mean it.' 'Yes, Lindy, I do mean it.' 'Aren't I a nuisance?' 'You've never been that, dear.' He spoke with such tenderness and sincerity that she could not possibly be in any further doubt, Claire thought, watching her closely. 'Shall I sit here beside you while Claire rests for a little while? She's been with you all night, and you don't want her to be poorly in bed, do you?' Claire caught her breath. Her name slipping out again, so easily and naturally from his lips. And his concern for her was quite clearly genuine. 'That would be awful.' With a hesitant, yet confident gesture, Lindy put out a hand to touch her uncle's sleeve. 'Tell her to go to bed, Uncle Simon.' She moved her hand, and his fingers curved gently round it. Claire left silently, closing the door behind her. Absurd to cry, yet the tears rolled unashamedly down her face. On her return half an hour later she encountered a look of severity on Simon's face.

'I thought you were in bed.' 'A wash in cold water has livened me up,' she assured him, smiling. 'Has Lindy eaten anything?' Simon indicated the tray. 'Tilda brought her some toast and milk—she did very well; managed two pieces.' 'That's wonderful. She didn't have a bite yesterday.' 'Have you had anything?' His voice was as stern as his glance. 'I had my breakfast at seven. Lindy was asleep, so I left her for a while.' Claire noticed with extreme satisfaction that Lindy's hand was in Simon's again. 'Aren't you tired, Claire?' Lindy's eyes were bright, half smiling. 'Uncle Simon told you to go to bed, didn't he?' 'I'm not tired- -' 'Uncle Simon didn't tell her to go to bed, but he's telling her now.' Claire flushed; she had never thought an order from Simon could give her pleasure! 'There really isn't any need for me to go yet. I'm not in the least tired now.' 'You must be. Off you go, and don't get up until tea- time.' 'Tea-time? But -'

'Tea-time,' he repeated firmly, and then, sending her pulses suddenly racing, 'You must have your rest, my dear, for we can't manage without you.' 'You're very kind, Mr. Condliffe,' she stammered, avoiding his eyes. How long could she keep her secret hidden if he continued to speak to her like this? But Lindy's illness had softened him, that was all. When she was fully recovered he would soon revert to his old austerity of manner. 'No, Claire, I'm not being kind at all. You really have been" wonderful,' and then as if sensing her embarrassment, 'Now go to bed; I'll ask Tilda to call you at four.' She was sound asleep when Tilda knocked gently at her door. 'Thank you, Tilda,' she murmured drowsily. 'I'll be down in a few minutes.' 'Lindy's asleep. Simon wants you to join him for tea.' Claire sat up, catching her breath. It didn't mean a thing, she told herself as she washed and dressed. It was merely politeness on his part, nothing more. Nevertheless, her heart thudded as she knocked on the sitting-room door where, Tilda had informed her, tea was laid. Simon rose as she entered, a smile softening the hard and chiselled lines of his face. 'You've had a good rest?' 'Wonderful. I feel fine, thanks.' Claire moved to the chair he had drawn up to the table for her. 'How is Lindy?'

'A little better, if I'm any judge. She's certainly much brighter.' 'Thanks to you,' she smiled, and Simon made no response. Tilda entered with the tray, chatted for a moment or two in her customary affected manner, then left them alone. Simon asked Claire to pour the tea, which she did, feeling ridiculously shy and awkward. A little silence fell between them before Simon spoke, dispersing the slight tension of which both were acutely aware. 'Claire...' He looked across at her and spoke in gentle tones. 'I owe you an apology. Lindy told me this afternoon how you tried to persuade her to come in to me for a little while in the evenings before she went to bed.' 'Did she?' Claire could think of no other comment in face of this contrition. 'She was in an unusually talkative mood.' He smiled fleetingly. 'Lindy is always too terrified of me to say much.' He paused in thought, mechanically picking up the plate and passing the scones across to Claire. 'When I accused you of keeping her away why didn't you explain that you'd done your utmost to make her come to me?' She hesitated, watching for a space the swirling mist which had dropped over the fells and the lofty distant crags. Simon waited, and at last she said, quietly, bringing her gaze from the window, 'It would have meant telling you she had persistently refused.' 'I see.' He examined her keenly for a moment. 'You wanted to spare my feelings?' 'Naturally I didn't want to hurt you, knowing how fond you are of Lindy.'

'You didn't want to hurt me...' He murmured pensively, but almost at once his manner was edged with reproof and indignation. 'No doubt you wanted to be considerate, but I would have preferred to know. I hate making mistakes—and much less misjudging people!' 'I'm sorry, but I did say that I had never kept you apart. On two occasions only I told her she mustn't stay with you—once when I knew you had an engagement at eight, and another time when Tilda informed me you were very busy with your books.' Simon made no immediate reply. He seemed angry with himself, and Claire could not help wondering if some insinuation of Ursula's was responsible for it. 'You did say you had never kept her away from me,' he agreed at last. 'And I wouldn't listen. I'm sorry about that.' 'It doesn't matter now,' she returned impulsively, warmed again by the change in his tone. 'The important thing is that Lindy really wanted you today.' 'No doubt of that. I wonder what brought about the change? And what will happen when she's well again?' 'May I talk to you about Lindy?' asked Claire on a rather hesitant note. She had lain awake for some time that morning trying to solve the problem of the child's attitude, to find a reason for those sudden tears when her uncle had declared his intention of leaving her and sending Tilda up to stay with her. Claire had been on the verge of sleep when the explanation came to her, jerking her once again into wakefulness as she pondered over it for some time before a contented, restful slumber took possession. But now she thought of it again and felt a strange happiness at the prospect of being able to tell Simon of her conclusions.- 'I've been trying to puzzle out the reason for her fear of you,' she went on without waiting for an

answer. 'If you had ever been unjust, or smacked her, it might have been understandable -' 'I've been very near to it,' he confessed with a grim smile. 'I don't know how I kept my hands off her that evening-—but what a blessing I did. I would never have forgiven myself had I hurt her when she was ill.' 'It was rather dreadful, and I can imagine how you felt,' Claire admitted. 'I know I felt horribly guilty.' 'It wasn't your fault. I knew you understood her better than I, and should have known she was ill if you said so.' Claire felt again that warmth, that pleasure at his praise. After a moment she asked again if she could talk about Lindy. 'Of course.' 'You won't be ... annoyed?' He threw her an odd glance as something seemed to amuse him. 'That sounds so very much as though you expect me to be that I can't make a promise. However, I shall try not to be annoyed,' he added with a sudden laugh. Claire laughed too then and said with amused resignation, 'I shall have to risk it, I'm afraid.' He remained silent for a space, watching her with a strange new expression that brought the colour to her cheeks. 'Well?' he prompted at length.

'I've been thinking about it for some time,' Claire began, 'but when Lindy cried this morning I realized that she definitely cares for you—in fact, I'm sure she loves you very much.' 'No, Claire, you're mistaken.' 'I'm sure of it, Mr. Condliffe. Quite sure.' 'Then how do you explain her fear of me?' 'I don't believe she is afraid of you; but she's afraid of incurring your displeasure. If your displeasure can hurt her, then she must love you, don't you agree?' 'How did you think that one out?' he wanted to know, eyeing her again with that new and disconcerting interest. 'Lindy has a temperament rather like my own,' she confessed, regarding her plate thoughtfully. 'And I know what my reactions would be under similar circumstances.' Simon watched her bent head for a long moment and then, 'Would you, if you loved someone, stammer and tremble every time they spoke to you?' he enquired strangely. 'Lindy doesn't do that,' Claire retorted, looking up. 'You haven't answered my question,' he reminded her, ignoring the reference to Lindy. 'Well?' Claire stared at him, but saw nothing in his expression to indicate that he was teasing her. 'Does it matter?'

'Not in the least. It was merely curiosity on my part.' He picked up a plate of cakes and reached across the table to offer them to her. 'If I cared for someone I'd do all in my power to keep them in a good 'humour.' Automatically she took the cake nearest to her and put it on her plate. 'If I thought my presence annoyed them—and naturally I would think that if I overheard them say I was a nuisance—I'd keep out of their way. And if whenever I spoke they became impatient and snapped at me, I should refrain from speaking to them any more than was necessary -' 'Are you implying that I'm like that with Lindy?' he snapped, unable to listen a moment longer. 'I said you might be annoyed,' Claire reminded him gently, and then, 'Yes, Mr. Condliffe, I do think you're like that with Lindy, and that's the reason for her fear. She's pleading with you all the while to have patience with her.' There was an astounded silence and then he said curtly, 'Your description of me is far from flattering, Miss Harris. My— employees usually practise more tact, keep their opinions to themselves!' Claire again reminded him that she had expected him to be annoyed, and then she fell silent, feeling miserable and wishing she had tried to explain in a more diplomatic way. Simon was toying with the crumbs on his plate and as she watched him she saw to her surprise that his face had cleared, that the angry glint had left his eyes. In fact, as she continued to stare at him she saw a most rueful smile suddenly touch his lips. 'Lindy and I appear to have been chasing one another round in circles, if your deductions are correct. I've been impatient with her fear, feeling it was unnecessary, and she's been afraid of me only

because of that impatience. Had I stopped being impatient she would have stopped being afraid, and vice versa. Lord, what a muddle!' 'Poor Lindy; she thought, in her childish way, that her timidity would appease, but it only angered you, and she eventually wanted only to avoid you.' Claire smiled at him across the table. 'I said she was a lovable child; I do hope you'll find her so, Mr. Condliffe.' 'I'm sure I shall,' he returned, rather gently. 'At least I understand her better now. This little talk has proved most profitable. It's cleared up many things, and I must thank you—sincerely.' Happiness flooded over her at his tone, but she tried to keep her mind on Lindy and the conversation they had just been having about her. As he said, many things had been cleared up. He more fully understood Lindy. They would draw closer and closer together from now on. He knew that she, Claire, had never kept his niece away from him, that she had in fact tried to make her go to him. That absurd notion— almost as though he considered her possessive— was not the sort of attitude she would have associated with Simon. Ursula, yes, but never Simon - Ursula! Claire glanced swiftly at him, saw the hint of remorse, and in the brief space before his expression changed she learned the truth. -So she hadn't been mistaken in suspecting Ursula of trying to turn Simon against her. But to go to those lengths! It was so unnecessary. Claire thought it most unlikely that her employer had even noticed the colour of her hair! 'Shall we go upstairs now?' Simon's voice broke gently into her thoughts. He had coupled his name with hers in that one small word and for a moment her heart raced. Someone ought to shake her, she admitted with some disgust, for she acted like a lovesick schoolgirl!

Lindy, still asleep, was breathing more evenly than she had for a long time, and on her lips there was the trace of a smile. How peaceful and contented she looked, thought Claire, and her own lips curved into a smile of extreme satisfaction. The glow from the fire gave out little light in the darkened room, but Claire could clearly discern the tenderness on Simon's face as he smoothed the bed cover, and she swallowed convulsively. She had thought him hard, incapable of any deep emotion. .But now she knew differently. How wonderful to be loved by him; how happy he would make the woman of his choice. Did Ursula love him? And did Simon love her? Ursula was evidently in doubt, otherwise what need for jealousy? Claire found it impossible to read either of them with any certainty. Simon, the type of man who kept his emotions well controlled, his thoughts well hidden, only showed his feelings in unguarded moments like this, and it was the same with Ursula. But somehow Claire felt sure that Ursula was quite incapable of loving deeply. And yet it seemed certain that Simon would marry her. The thought cast a shadow across her lovely features and Simon, turning from the bed, noticed this and frowned. 'You look all in,' he observed in anxious tones. 'I'm staying with Lindy tonight; you'll go to bed early. But first you must have some fresh air.' He took another glance at the bed. 'She probably won't wake up for a while, but I'll tell Tilda to keep an eye on her. Come along, we'll have half an hour in the garden.' The tone permitted no argument—indeed, Claire hadn't the slightest intention of arguing with a suggestion like that. He snapped off the main light, after putting on a shaded bedside lamp, and then, a hand under her arm, he urged Claire to the door. Although his touch was only light and glancing, she felt it long after they had returned from their walk, even after she was between the

sheets, and it was with extreme reluctance that she at last closed her eyes and resigned herself to sleep.

CHAPTER VII DURING Lindy's convalescence Simon and Claire were thrown more and more together and, their little talk having dissolved all doubts and misunderstandings, he now treated her with sincere friendliness and respect. His attitude towards his niece naturally changed. He was infinitely patient and sometimes rather amazed at the amusement he derived from her childish prattle. Yet some trouble clearly weighed on his mind and Claire, now confident and at ease in his presence, approached him about it without either misgiving or restraint. 'I wouldn't worry about Lindy,' she said one day when they were in the sitting-room, waiting for Tilda to bring in the tea. 'She won't change now. When she gets up she'll be just the same.' Simon smiled faintly. 'I'm not worried about that, Claire ... I told you once that there were things you didn't understand, but I think you have a right to know now.' He went on to tell her about his sister and the way she had suffered for her folly. 'So you see, I must continue to suppress those high spirits, to protect the child from herself. I can't allow "her to go her own way, and perhaps spoil her life as her mother did.' 'And of course you're wondering about Lindy's reaction? You feel sure that she'll resume her former attitude towards you?' He nodded morosely, and after a small silence, she asked, 'What makes you so convinced that, given a little freedom, Lindy will grow up like her mother?' 'History is repeating itself. There's too much of her mother in Lindy.' Claire stared at him in some perplexity.

'But I've never found Lindy wilful or disobedient; she's a most tractable child.' 'Now, Claire, yes. But only because of my firmness with her at the beginning. I had no alternative but to adopt that attitude. It subdued her, as you've seen, but the result was far from satisfactory, as I lost her love completely.' 'She's growing to love you now, though.' 'True, but what about the future?' 'Love can be more effective than strictness,' Claire said reflectively. 'I lost my mother when I was only eight, and I can understand just how Lindy felt. But for my father's love and devotion I'd have been like her. The love of some understanding person is vitally necessary if the wound is to heal. I found it so—and Lindy's temperament is very like my own. I think I mentioned that before.' A small silence, and then, 'I wish I'd understood.' He shook his head regretfully. 'Poor Lindy! " 'It's all over and finished with, Mr. Condliffe. Lindy is really happy now.' 'You think so?' There was an eagerness about him and yet at the same time a hint of uncertainty. 'I'm sure of it,' and then, rather self-consciously, 'You can lead those who love you; it's only those who hate you that you have to drive.' This brought a faint smile to his lips, but his eyes were serious, fixing her in a long and searching scrutiny. 'Both Lindy and I are fortunate in having you here,'

was the surprising comment. 'I sincerely hope you'll stay with us.' The hint of anxiety in his tone brought her head up sharply. 'But of course, Mr. Condliffe. That has always been my intention.' She must convince him, sure now that her words could influence his decision regarding the living. She wished she could tell him that she had no intention of marrying Ken, but that was impossible, being tantamount to saying she had read his thoughts and that he could quite safely install Ken in the vicarage here. 'I shall remain here for as long as you need me,' she added, and to her relief and satisfaction the doubt immediately left his face.

It had become so regular a practice for them to take a stroll after tea that Simon would say only a casual, 'Are you ready?' before walking out on the terrace and standing there, waiting for Claire to fetch her coat. One afternoon Ursula, who had not once been up to see Lindy because, she said, she never had measles, met them in the lane. Her eyes narrowed into slits as she approached them, and she addressed Simon, ignoring Claire completely. 'Lindy is fit to be left, then?' 'Tilda's with her,' he replied. 'She's up now, in the bedroom, of course.' 'I'm so glad. I was just coming over to see you, but if you're going out... ?' 'We're merely taking a little stroll.' returned Simon casually, and Claire's spirits dropped. His tone clearly implied a complete lack of

interest in what to Claire had become an exciting and most pleasant occurrence. 'I'll come with you, then,' said Ursula, still ignoring Claire. 'And we can talk when we get back.' Simon glanced at her sharply. 'Talk?' 'Yes, I have a message from Father.' It wasn't a very pleasant walk for Claire after that. Ursula monopolized the conversation, always speaking to Simon and succeeding in making Claire feel unwanted. With a sigh of relief Claire at last heard Simon say it was time they turned back. 'I'll go up to Lindy,' she said as soon as they reached the house. 'Tell her I'll be up shortly. Oh, Claire 'Yes, Mr. Condliffe?' She flushed under Ursula's sharp glance of surprise. 'There's a book on my desk. Take it up to her, will you?' 'Wouldn't you prefer to give it to her yourself?' 'I think she'll want you to begin reading it to her. It's called "An Edge of the Forest". One of her little friends at school has told her about it and I promised I'd get it the next time I went to town.' 'This is a new departure, isn't it?' Ursula's tone seemed faintly bored, but her eyes glittered as they moved from Simon to Claire. 'You actually went into a shop to buy a book for Lindy? You're becoming quite human!' Her laugh was forced and hollow; Simon regarded her with that faint hauteur which Claire knew so well.-

'I believe I am, Ursula,' he returned curtly, and went into the library. Ursula followed him and Claire went upstairs, her old dejection returning as she wondered about the message which Ursula had brought from her father. Perhaps he had" decided to retire altogether, on account of his health; perhaps what Ursula had to say would result in a date being fixed for the wedding. Claire had been reading to Lindy for about ten minutes when Simon appeared; he stood in the doorway, watching as, curled up on the end of the bed, Claire lowered her book in faint embarrassment at the idea of having him for an audience. Walking over to a window seat, he sat down, relaxed and obviously expecting Claire to continue. 'I think you've had enough,' said Claire, closing the book. 'Claire, no!' protested Lindy. , 'You're going to have a nice glass of warm milk and then it's sleep for you, my pet.' 'But it's the most interesting part. What happens next? I must know.' 'That would spoil it.' 'Please tell me,' Lindy persisted. 'You've read it before, you said so. I couldn't sleep thinking the poor black lamb is going to be killed.' 'He isn't killed. Are you satisfied now?' Claire knew that her employer was listening to this interchange with considerable amusement and the knowledge brought a soft flush to her cheeks. 'Why doesn't he get killed?' 'You'll find out tomorrow.'

Lindy sat up, and began to relate part of the story to her uncle; lien she added, 'Don't you want to know what happens next?' 'If Claire says we must wait, then we must,' he answered gravely, though with laughter in his eyes. 'But you can make her tell us.' She smiled coaxingly at him. 'Make her, Uncle Simon.' Claire busied herself with rearranging the bedclothes, 'Very well, we'll experiment. Claire, what happens to the little black lamb?' 'Now who's spoiling the child!' The words came out before she could stop them, and Claire bent lower over the bed. 'I stand corrected.' Again his voice was grave and Claire looked up in dismay. 'I didn't mean—I wasn't being rude...' 'Certainly you weren't. But we are left in suspense; we're very anxious about the lamb's safety—and it is rather a long time to wait, you know.' 'There you are!' Lindy exclaimed triumphantly. 'I knew Uncle Simon would be on my side! You'll have to tell us now.' 'The leopardess protects him,' she informed them with a laugh, adding, 'And that is definitely all for tonight!' 'I might have known. Fairy tales are always like that.' .

'This isn't a fairy tale,' his niece retorted with sudden dignity. 'I'm far too old for those.' 'I appear to be coming in for corrections from all sides this evening,' he laughed. 'I'd better go and fetch your milk.' ' How different from the arrogant, overbearing man whom she first knew, Claire thought, looking up, to find him regarding her with a most odd expression in his eyes. She glanced quickly away, fumbling for words. 'We need some more coal.' Simon raised his brows. 'The scuttle's full. Besides, I thought we'd decided that the central heating's now adequate, that it's become too warm for a fire as well?' Apparently he expected no comment on that, for he immediately left the room, saying again he had better fetch Lindy her milk. Some time later Lindy nibbled a biscuit and said hopefully, 'I wonder if the leopardess will find a daddy leopardess and fall in love?' She glanced at Claire from under her lashes. 'You needn't try any of those tricks,' she laughed. 'I'm not telling you any more about the story; you'll just have to wait.' 'Oh, go on, please! I like it when they fall in love. It makes the story much more exciting.' She paused, examining the biscuit which was now without its corners. I expect you think I don't know anything about love?' 'I'm quite sure you don't. Are you going to eat that biscuit, or shall I take it away?'

Lindy took a tiny bite from each of the sides and then looked again at the pattern she had made. 'I do know about love. I know all about it,' she stated with emphasis, and her uncle's brows shot up. 'Do you indeed? So they do teach you something at school!' 'I didn't learn about it there,' she chuckled. 'Sally Mountfield told me. She knows because her brother's engaged—that's going to be married,' she went on to inform them knowledgeably. 'And what did Sally tell you about her brother?' asked Simon with mock severity. There was a small silence; Claire wondered what was coming next. Lindy said, with some hesitation, 'Well, they go in the summer-house....' That appeared to be all; glancing at Simon, Claire saw the amusement in his eyes and laughed in response. 'Give me that biscuit,' she said, holding out her hand. 'You're just playing about with it.' Lindy gave it up and snuggled down in the bed. Claire tucked her in, reminding her that tomorrow was a most important day because she was going downstairs and, if it were fine and sunny, she would be allowed in the garden for a little while. Lindy became serious as, looking up as her uncle came over to kiss her good night, something seemed to occur to her. 'Do you go in the summer-house—with Aunt Ursula?'

'Certainly not!' 'Don't you love each other—like this?' Lindy sat up in bed and flung her arms around her uncle's neck. 'This is called loving each other, and Sally said that if I saw you and Aunt Ursula like this in die summer- house then you're going to be married—because that's what her brother does -' She stopped as Simon disengaged himself and put her, none too gently, back on the pillow. 'Don't you do it to Aunt Ursula?' she went on to ask, quite undaunted by his scowling countenance. 'No! I've just told you. Now go to sleep and never let me hear such nonsense again!' 'I'll leave you,' murmured Claire, hot with embarrassment. 'Fix the bedclothes first.' He moved away, avoiding her eyes; Claire did as he told her and then said good night to Lindy and kissed her on the cheek. 'Uncle Simon's cross,' Lindy whispered, 'but I don't care, because now I know he isn't going to marry Aunt Ursula.' Simon must be fuming, thought Claire as, a moment or two later, they left the room together. But to her utter astonishment, he seemed quickly to forget the incident, for as they entered the sitting-room, he turned and thanked her for the way she cared for his niece, remarking on her patience, and the obvious love she gave to the child. 'It's nothing—you mustn't thank me, Mr. Condliffe. I'm only doing my job—the—the job you pay me for.' Why did she have to stammer like this?—and flush so deeply? It was all too embarrassing.

'Some things have nothing to do with money, Claire. You've done wonders with Lindy, and you've helped me to understand her. She's a very happy child now, and I have only you to thank.' As if sensing her intention of making a second protest, Simon abruptly changed the subject, telling her to fetch her coat. It was such a beautiful evening, and they were both in need of exercise, having spent practically the whole of the day in the nursery with Lindy.

A fortnight passed, and still Ken had received no word about the living. His last letter to Claire had been in a pessimistic vein; he seemed resigned, and said that he supposed his youth was against him. Claire began toying with the idea of venturing to broach the subject to her employer; the idea persisted and she made up her mind to watch for a suitable opportunity. She went to see her friends, to inform them of her intention, but what Meg and Jim had to say drove everything else from her mind. 'So Mr. Condliffe and Miss Corwell are to be married at last?' Meg looked at Claire questioningly as if expecting her to supply them with a few more details about it. . 'They're ... getting married?' Claire's face paled and her heart missed a beat. 'I haven't heard anything. When—when is it to be?' 'Quite soon, from all accounts. It's odd that Mr. Condliffe hasn't mentioned it to you.' And when Claire shook her head, 'It's all over the village. The information came originally from one of the gardeners up at Mr. Cornell's place. He heard them talking about it-Shouldn't have listened, of course, but he said he was working just outside the window, and couldn't help hearing. Apparently Mr. Corwell has decided to wash his hands of the estate, and rest, as the doctor has advised. He sent for Mr. Condliffe and they were

discussing it. The gardener heard Mr. Corwell ask Mr. Condliffe if he wanted to buy it, and he said he didn't need to—which obviously meant that he intended marrying Ursula, because the next thing the gardener heard was them both discussing improvements to the land and the buildings. Mr. Condliffe said he'd get to work on these improvements right away, and told Mr. Corwell not to worry about his daughter because everything would be taken care of.' Claire felt a terrible little ache in her throat, and a dampness on her brow. She had never fully realized until now just how deep her love for Simon was. The thought of his forthcoming marriage to Ursula was almost more than she could bear. How long, she wondered, before this pain began to ease? Ken came the following day, to spend almost a week with Meg and Jim. On his last evening he was walking home with Claire when, as they neared, the Tower, Ursula came into view round the bend and began to smile as she drew near. 'Good evening, Miss Harris,' she said pleasantly, at the same time nodding to Ken. 'Good evening.' Claire's surprise was revealed in her tone. Ursula's greeting was usually a quick and superior little inclination of the head; never before had she condescended to chat about what Meg would have described as 'anything and nothing', but as Ursula proceeded to do so Claire began to feel a trifle disturbed by her sudden friendliness. A pause came at last, as Ursula looked uncertainly at Claire before saying, 'Miss Harris, I once saw you altering a dress for Tilda. Are you good at that sort of thing?' 'I don't know,'. Claire answered, with a blank and uncomprehending stare. 'I always manage to do my own.'

'Then—I wonder—could you come over and tell me what to do with an evening dress that is slightly long in the bodice? I need it for tomorrow, and I would be most grateful if you would help me. I'm turning back now, so perhaps you'd come along with me?' 'Now?' Claire looked at her watch; it was half past nine. 'I know it's rather short notice,' Ursula admitted, 'but I won't keep you a minute.' Her voice held none of the insolence with which she usually spoke to .Claire. 'I only want you to give me an idea what to do,' she added, with a charming smile, and Claire found it impossible to refuse such a simple request. 'Very well, Miss Corwell. I'll come back with you now -' 'Claire will be along in a little while,' Ken interposed abruptly. 'We haven't said good night, Miss Corwell—and I go back to Nottingham first thing in the morning.' 'Of course—do forgive my thoughtlessness. I'll walk on, then, and you can follow. I have the dress ready.' 'Cheek!' Ken almost snapped, when she was out of earshot. 'I can't stand that woman.' 'I don't care for her myself,' Claire admitted. 'And I'm quite puzzled by her attitude. She's never been so pleasant to me before.' 'She couldn't be anything else when she had a favour to ask of you.' His eyes followed the retreating figure musingly. 'Not the sort of girl I'd have imagined Mr. Condliffe to fall for. She seems so ... cold, if you know what I mean. I can always imagine her husband having to ask meekly for her favours.' 'Ken, what a thing to say!'

'It's true. She reminds me of an iceberg.' 'Mr. Condliffe can be rather cold, too.' 'He might seem it, but he's flesh and blood, for all that, and I can't see him begging for favours. On the contrary, I can see him taking what he wants just whenever he wants. They're so incompatible; I should say they both needed a partner they could subdue.' 'I don't think Mr. Condliffe would—subdue anyone he loved.' 'No?' Ken gave her a dry smile. 'He subdued his niece—and yet you maintain that he loves her. Have you forgotten your first letters to me?' She glanced at him with interest. 'What did I say about him?' 'You described him as a heartless brute who ill- treated his niece. He was utterly devoid of pity or understanding, tyrannical, autocratic -' 'I didn't say all those things!' 'And more,' he laughed. 'But you've obviously changed your opinion since then.' Very much, she mused, swallowing a lump in her throat. Ken changed the subject then, talking about Melhurst, the living, and things on which she made no comment, but which made her feel uneasy and depressed as she left him and walked towards the big grey house where Ursula lived. She was shown into a large drawingroom by an aged, impassive butler. Ursula was waiting for her, the dress flung across the back of a chair.

The high-ceilinged room was similar to the rooms at the Tower, but lacked both the lovely works of art that abounded there and the atmosphere of warmth. No snapshots pushed behind the clock, no cushions crumpled or chairs out of place. 'Sit down, Miss Harris,' Ursula invited. 'This is the dress.' Claire remained standing. 'Are you going to try it on?' 'That's unnecessary,' she said without much interest. 'The bodice is about an inch too long. What do you suggest I do with it?' 'Well, I would unpick the bodice from the skirt, cut the inch off and then stitch them together again...' This was ridiculous—a child could fathom it out! Claire became alert; Ursula didn't really want advice about the dress. She wouldn't try it on because there wasn't anything wrong with it! 'Why have you brought me here?' she demanded bluntly, and Ursula's lashes flickered. Then, with a shrug of resignation, she sat down. 'I've quarrelled with Simon,' she confessed. 'I'm rather a lonely person, as you will probably have noticed, Miss Harris, and I felt I must talk to someone about it. You don't mind my bringing you here?' Claire stood looking at her in blank astonishment. 'No... But I should have thought I was the last person you would want to talk to. We're mere acquaintances, Miss Corwell.' 'Yes, and it's all my fault,' was Ursula's surprising admission. 'I'm a proud sort of person, but it's only my way. I don't really mean to be unfriendly* I'm not a good mixer, that's all.'

This was a new and humble Ursula indeed; Claire gazed at her suspiciously, but something in the other girl's tone had aroused her quick sympathy. 'You and Mr. Condliffe will soon forget your quarrel, I'm sure.' An odd time to quarrel, she thought with a sudden frown, and for some quite inexplicable reason Claire began to wonder about Meg's assertion that Simon and Ursula were to be married shortly. Could it possibly be only a rumour? 'Oh, yes, I'm not afraid of that; but I am afraid of what he might do in the meantime. Anger makes him so impulsive.' 'Impulsive?' Claire stared unbelievingly. 'You know so much about Mr. Condliffe, and yet you can say he's impulsive!' 'Have you ever seen him angry?' 'Indeed I have,' answered Claire with feeling. 'But he always maintains his calm.' 'Outwardly, yes, but inwardly he seethes, and believe me, Miss Harris, he is then liable to do anything.' 'What do you mean?' 'I mean,' returned Ursula in slow, deliberate tones, 'that, to spite me, he would ask the first girl he met to marry him.' Claire's eyes opened wide. Ursula must be out of her mind! 'I'm afraid I don't know what to make of that statement, Miss Corwell. But I do know you're mistaken. Mr. Condliffe would never think of doing anything so utterly stupid and impetuous.'

'Yes, yes, he would—in anger. I do know him well, as you say, and he is, basically, a very impulsive man. We've quarrelled before, and that time he threatened to go out and find another girl.' 'He—he threatened to do that!' Impossible—and yet what could Ursula gain by telling lies? 'He did, Miss Harris, but fortunately we made up our quarrel before he had the opportunity to do anything so rash, but this time it's much more serious. Oh, we shall resolve our differences eventually, but in the meantime? Just think what would happen if he did propose to some girl—he'd marry her, because he'd promised, but he'd spend the rest of his life regretting his impulsive action.' Ursula paused, as if to let that sink in; reaching for an ornate gilt and ivory box, she took out a cigarette and proceeded to light it. 'That would mean that we should eventually have to resort to—to an affair. So unsavoury, Miss Harris.' Inhaling deeply, she blew the smoke into the air. Claire felt sick. The girl had been drinking; she could smell it. 'I must be going,' she said quietly. 'Don't worry about Mr. Condliffe; he'll be sure to be over in the morning.' Ursula stood up. 'You don't believe a word I've said.' 'I do not.' 'All the same, it's true.' A moment's carefully timed hesitation and then, 'I do hope he won't do anything rash.' 'He won't.' 'I should never have let him leave in such a state.' Ursula went on, ignoring Claire's emphatic assertion. 'Miss Harris, will you promise me that if he does do anything silly you'll let me know at once?'

'He can scarcely do anything silly tonight, and by the morning he'll have forgotten all about the affair. So will you. You'll regret these absurd confidences.' 'He won't get over it as soon as that,' Ursula declared. 'Promise me, Miss Harris.' 'Very well,' Claire shrugged. 'Good night, Miss Corwell.' 'I'm sorry you can't take me seriously,' Ursula said, showing her out. 'I know Simon intimately and he has done the most shocking things under the influence of that temper of his.' 'He isn't likely to do anything he'll regret,' Claire assured her calmly. 'No matter what kind of a temper he's in.' 'I sincerely hope you're right, but believe me, I'm terrified.' 'There's no need.-You're upset by your quarrel, and are taking the matter far too seriously.' Also, she'd had far too much to drink Claire added, but silently. 'You really think so? I hope you're right. Perhaps I am taking the matter too seriously. You—you won't say anything to Simon?' 'I wouldn't dream of doing so,' Claire replied. 'It's forgotten as far as I'm concerned.' But Claire was frowning as she crossed the fields to the Tower. After taking the greatest pains to convince her that Simon would go out and commit some irreparable folly, Ursula had owned, at the last moment, that she was taking the matter far too seriously. And, with sudden perception, Claire realized that those words had preceded the final request: 'You won't say anything to Simon?' Well, she thought, dismissing it with a shrug, Ursula need .not have gone

to all that trouble. Simon was the last man with whom she would discuss a conversation like that.

CHAPTER VIII SHE went in by the back way. Tilda, elegant and spruce as ever, was in the kitchen toasting tea-cakes and making coffee. 'There you are, dear! Simon wants to see you before you go to bed. I'm making his supper. Would you like some, too?' 'Thanks, Tilda. I'll be back in a few minutes.' To Claire's surprise Simon's face wore a rather placid expression which was very much at variance with Ursula's description of his being in a vile temper. She waited to hear what he wanted to see her about, but he merely smiled and asked her to sit down, remarking that they were almost strangers these days and asking if she had said goodbye to Ken. 'Yes, he's catching the early morning train.' 'Then perhaps we can resume our little walks. I've missed them, Claire.' She glowed with warmth. How easily he could give her pleasure! She chided herself for her foolishness; she should have more sense, aware as she was of his love for another woman. But every smile, every indulgent act, went into her treasured store of memories. 'Tilda is making supper. Will you join me?' 'Thank you very much. I've told her I'd be back, to have mine in the kitchen. Shall I ask her to bring it in here?' There was breathlessness in her voice and a flush on her cheeks from the wind; her hair was enchantingly tousled. Simon watched her curiously as she turned to open the door.

A little while later he was pouring the coffee, a strangely preoccupied expression on his face. The silence was suddenly disconcerting; Claire felt restless and faintly ill at ease. They both sipped their coffee and several times Simon appeared to be on the point - of saying something and then changed his mind. At last he told her that he had decided to appoint Ken to the living. He was watching her carefully, to see what effect his decision had on her. She had the feeling that he was half expecting her to show excitement, to reveal, though not in words, that she and Ken were more than friends. 'That is kind of you,' she murmured, feeling inadequate. 'He'll be so happy Mr. Condliffe. He'd really set his heart on it.' 'He impressed me from the first, but...' All at once he seemed to forget her presence as his eyes darkened. Claire knew without any doubt at all that he had been through a period of strain and conflict. That he had known from the beginning that Ken was eminently suitable for Melhurst but he had been hesitating because of the fear of losing her. She could visualize the battle with his honour ... and now his honour had won. He looked up," realizing he had cut his sentence short. 'We need a young man here. The place has grown during recent years and we now have more youngsters to cater for. I feel he's sincere in his promise to cater for these people, and for the old ones, too. Yes, Claire, I'm sure I shan't regret my decision.' 'I know you won't, Mr. Condliffe. Ken loves his work.' She hesitated. 'Was that what you wanted to see me about?' 'No,' he returned strangely. 'It was .another matter altogether.' Glancing at him in surprised enquiry, Claire gave a little gasp as she noticed that, for the first time since she had known him, he seemed unsure of himself. 'I'll come straight to the point -' But he didn't come straight to the point. All he said was, 'I wondered if you would

care to come for a stroll— when we've finished our supper, of course.' 'It's rather late,' she began, not because she didn't wish to walk with him, but because she felt she couldn't bear it if he too began to confide ... and he certainly appeared to have something about which he was anxious to talk. Simon glanced at his watch. 'Ten-thirty. Are you tired?' She found herself saying, almost against her will, 'Not in the least, Mr. Condliffe.' The breeze had died and in the garden and the park nothing stirred. Far below, the lake and its tree-clad islands lay motionless; the only sign of movement was the lovely little Rydal Beck, tumbling from the fell and glistening in the moonlight. The air was night- scented and heady. They walked for a while without speaking; clouds hid the moon for a moment as they reached the narrow path which cut through the shrubbery and he took her arm, an instinctive, natural gesture, yet Claire quivered under his touch. The moon emerged again, showering the garden with a silver radiance and lighting the night-dew so that it shimmered and sparkled like jewels on the flowers and the trees. Simon removed his hand, evidently considering she no longer required his guidance. But he remained very close beside her. 'Are we going through the park?' Claire asked the question to end a silence which, to her, had become a strain.

'I don't think the grass will be too wet.' He then began to talk about Lindy, and about a pony he thought of buying for her. Claire felt that all this was part of a delaying action. Was he, then, going to confide—to tell her of his quarrel with Ursula? Would she be expected to advise—perhaps even to console? At last they reached an arbour, canopied by the feathery drooping leaves of a Japanese cedar, and Simon suggested they sit down. 'Are you cold?' 'No; it's a beautiful night.' She became tensed by his nearness, and her instinct was to move away, but it would appear to be such an unfriendly gesture, so she refrained. 'Claire...' 'Yes?' 'Claire dear,' he said in gentle tones, 'what I have to say will come as a surprise, but I've brought you out here to ask if you will marry me.' Although there was no longer any hint of uncertainty in his manner, although he was once more cool and completely self- possessed, the words came all of a rush at the end. Claire just sat there, her head bowed. After the first staggering shock she had become overwhelmed by a numb, despairing emptiness. Simon, the strong fine person, existed only in her imagination; in reality he was a weakling, a man who would stoop, without thought of the consequences, to this revenge on the girl he loved. Ursula's description of his character was true. The knowledge was almost more than she could bear and, with a trembling sob, she turned away from him. 'You're—weeping!'

Claire shook her head dumbly, but after a while she managed to speak. 'No, Mr. Condliffe, it's only—only -Why did you say it?' she cried. 'Oh, why did you say it!' 'I—what's the matter, child?' He reached for her hand and held it comfortingly. 'I expected a plain acceptance or refusal, but this reproach, this disillusionment -' 'Oh, why did you say it?' she demanded again. 'Why?'' 'Why?' He looked utterly at a loss to account for all this anguish. 'Because I want you for my wife. That's the usual reason for a proposal of marriage.' Snatching her hand away, Claire rounded on him. 'Just because you've quarrelled with Miss Corwell, you're determined to punish her, to hurt her. How could you stoop to anything so petty? I thought you were so different. I wouldn't ever have believed you capable of such despicable conduct. You should be thoroughly ashamed of yourself!' Clouds scudded across the moon again and darkness dropped around them, hiding Simon's expression. 'Do you mind telling me what this is all about?' The low and menacing tones were lost on Claire, who almost choked with disgust. 'You know very well what it's all about. You're being abominably spiteful, and I don't know how you can act so irrationally—it's shameful to do a thing like this just for spite!' She still could not see his face, but his silence became frightening and her voice was more subdued as she asked him if he had nothing to say.

'.I was waiting for you to finish,' he returned icily. 'No doubt an intelligible explanation will be forthcoming, when you have recovered your composure.' At that she threw him a startled, questioning glance. 'An—an explanation?' 'If it's not asking too much. I think I'm entitled to one?' 'But—but you know already -' 'Perhaps you will begin by telling me how you have gained the impression that I've quarrelled with Miss Corwell?' 'You have quarrelled with her, I know you have!' 'Answer my question!' His anger flared, and instinctively she recoiled from the harshness in his voice. Doubts began, to assail her, but as she opened her mouth to explain she remembered, just in time, her promise to Ursula. With a gasp of dismay she realized she had already said too much. 'I—took it for granted,' she murmured lamely after a frantic endeavour to find something more convincing to say. An astounded silence followed, and then, 'You took it for granted?' 'I thought that was the reason why you asked me to—to -' she floundered dismally, and when she did eventually manage to continue her voice was low and very subdued. 'What other reason could there be?'

Again silence. The moon appeared as the clouds drifted away and Claire saw his face, dark with fury. 'My god!' he exclaimed at length. 'What an opinion you must have of me!' 'I'm sorry, very sorry,' she said contritely. There was something wrong, drastically wrong. What a fool she'd been to believe Ursula! But she hadn't believed her, not until Simon proposed to her. Claire pressed a hand to her temple in a gesture of bewilderment. If Ursula had lied then why had Simon proposed? 'What reason could you have for wanting to marry me?' she asked, unable to' bear the suspense any longer. 'Is it because-—?' No, if he loved her he would have said so. Claire bent her head to hide the painful flush that rose to her cheeks. 'Naturally I have my reasons,' he assured her more calmly, though still in frigid tones, 'but one of them is certainly not because of any quarrel between Miss Corwell and myself. I suppose, like everyone else in a small village like this, you've taken our engagement for granted. But you're mistaken; if I did happen to disagree with Miss Corwell it could in no way be described as a lovers' quarrel!' Feeling quite unable to cope with the situation, Claire remained silent, looking down at her hands and wondering again how she could have been so foolish as to take notice of Ursula, especially as she suspected the older girl was under the influence of drink. Simon's next words were even more baffling. 'Miss Corwell would tell you herself that there has never been anything but friendship between us.' Claire's head came up, her flash of astonishment bringing a most curious glint to his eyes. 'Has she ever given you reason to think otherwise?'

Her hesitation was natural, but Claire almost immediately remembered her promise and said hastily, 'No, no, she hasn't....' . He continued to regard her with that odd expression and she wouldn't have been in the least surprised had he demanded a further explanation. To her relief he seemed to reach a sudden decision about that, and merely said it was a pity a man couldn't have a woman friend without everyone jumping to the conclusion that he intended to marry her. 'As for your unflattering opinion of me, I can't remember ever having given you the slightest reason for considering me a blackguard!' Claire bit her lip, and offered' a profuse apology. He had every right to be furious, she had to admit, for there was no doubt that Ursula had lied. But why? Could it be that she had had some inkling of Simon's intentions? Claire could not believe he would discuss them openly—but he could perhaps have unwittingly hinted at them. And Ursula, in order to make sure that Claire would instantly refuse his offer, had put in a word first, inventing the whole, story! But all this did not explain Simon's reason for asking her to marry him. 'It's all so puzzling,' she murmured, unconsciously speaking her thoughts aloud. 'You can't want to marry me?' 'I do.' His tone became more gentle; his anger seemed to be dissolving rapidly. 'As I've said, I've several good reasons for wanting to marry you.' 'But love is not one of them?' She just had to ask, and her eyes were fixed on his anxiously. Certainly he did not love her. Swiftly she regretted her impulsive question.

'I must be honest with you,' he answered gently, 'and it wouldn't be honest to pretend that I love you. But I like you very much; I have a great admiration for the way you've been able to give Lindy affection, even love, and I see no reason why our marriage shouldn't be completely successful. Lindy needs a mother, and I need someone to run the house and to help me -' The suggestion of . a smile flickered. 'Yes, Claire, I do sometimes think it would be nice to have someone to help me with the little problems that seem always to be cropping up. Our marriage would also put a stop to these rumours concerning Miss Corwell and myself.' He paused and Claire thought again of the rumour already circulating in the village concerning his supposed engagement to Ursula. 'Those are my reasons, Claire. I know that you don't love me either— indeed, I don't expect love from you—but I feel that you like me a little. Your future will be secured; that is most important to a woman, I believe.' His words about love were a knife in her heart. 'A woman thinks of other things, too, when she decides to marry.' 'Such as?' She stirred on the seat, recalling how magical the night had seemed a short while ago when she and Simon had stepped into the moonlit garden and began to walk slowly through the park. 'Well... children....' She didn't realize how like a child she looked herself, as she stared at him, her eyes unnaturally bright. 'I wouldn't like that sort of marriage.' 'What sort of marriage?' enquired Simon with a lift of his brow.

'You ... know what I mean.' She glanced at him uncertainly, noticing the quizzical light in his eyes the faint smile of amusement on his lips. 'Isn't that what you meant?' 'It is not. I think we can expect children, so that needn't worry you.' Although her colour deepened, Claire felt no embarrassment at his words. There was no need to ask herself whether or not she wanted to marry him, but she did wonder if such a marriage could succeed. Simon firmly believed it could, and he was very astute. But what of her own feelings? Could she be satisfied with his friendship, caring the way she did? Also, there would always remain the knowledge that, Had Ursula been able to give his niece affection, Simon would have chosen her. 'Does it need so much consideration?' 'Would it work? I can't think so.' 'We would make it work.' He took her hand and held it in a strong firm grasp. 'Yes,' he added with conviction. 'You and I could make it work, Claire,' She felt helpless, and when he asked her once again if it took so much consideration she smiled and said, 'No, no it doesn't.' 'Then you will marry me?' She nodded, at the same time unhappily aware that he must obviously be thinking that she had accepted merely in order to secure her future, for hadn't he himself said that security was so important to a woman? Perhaps it was her imagination, but her

quick acceptance seemed to disappoint him; she sensed an aloofness about him and all at once he seemed very far away. 'Simon...' 'Yes?' Even that one small word seemed to hold a cutting edge. She had not expected any show of affection, naturally, but neither had she expected this kind of reaction. 'Is anything wrong?' How little she knew him, and how easily he could hurt her. Would she ever really know him or understand his moods? 'You're ...' different,' she murmured, almost inaudibly. He gave an exasperated little sigh, but when he spoke his voice had resumed its gentleness. 'I'm a most unreasonable man,' he said cryptically. 'I seem to want impossibilities. Thank you for accepting me, Claire.' It was as they were walking back to the house that Claire rather hesitantly brought up the matter of the wedding date. 'I don't know when you want it to be, but I don't want it yet, Simon.' 'No?' He turned with a frown. 'Why?' 'We know so little of one another, and—and after a while you might change your mind.' 'I—or you?' 'It's so sudden. We haven't given it much thought.'

'On the contrary, I've given it considerable thought. I don't act irresponsibly, Claire. To me an engagement is almost as binding as a marriage. It's a contract, not lightly to be entered into in the belief that it can easily be broken. I want you to heed what I say.' She suspected a threat—or at least a stem warning —in those words. Her decision was irrevocable; he was clearly advising her of that. 'I understand. But please give me time to know you better,' she pleaded, and his face softened. 'When, Claire?' he asked simply. If only it were an ordinary engagement, and he had declared his love here in the moonlight, then she could have put her arms round his neck and said, 'Next week—just as soon as we can arrange it.' Aloud she said, tentatively, 'In the spring?' 'Do you expect difficulty in getting to know me?' 'No, but...' For a moment she thought he was going to refuse, to sweep away her arguments in that old peremptory manner she knew so well, but he seemed to understand and he said quietly, 'Very well, Claire. We'll wait until the spring.'

During the next few weeks Claire was tossed about like a little ship on a stormy sea. At times the comradeship between Simon and herself was so deep that the future held no fears at all for her, and at others his impatience—and his friendship for Ursula —caused many secret tears. She often felt that there must be some truth in Ursula's

assertions; perhaps he had regretted his hasty proposal, for his attitude towards Ursula was apologetic, almost tender. 'You're a fool, you know,' Ursula had repeatedly told her. 'I warned you that Simon and I love each other far too deeply for a quarrel— or even his engagement to you—to come between us. His manner towards me should have convinced you long ago that you were fighting a losing battle. If you've any pride at all you'll give him up. You know the result if you do marry him.' 'He must ask for his freedom,' Claire replied stubbornly at last. 'Unless he does I shall never give him up.' 'Have you forgotten his sense of honour?' Ursula, as usual, was lounging in the big easy chair, treating the house as her own, in spite of Simon's engagement to Claire. 'I'm sure he's far too honourable to marry me if he loves you.' Claire knew she was trying to convince herself that he had no love for Ursula. But the way he looked at her, his gentle tones when speaking to her, and the occasion when, coming upon them unexpectedly on the terrace, she had found them holding hands. These things could not be ignored, and Claire felt she ought to give him the chance of his freedom. But, as Ursula had said, there was his honour to consider. She could give him his freedom only by convincing him she wanted hers.

Ken moved into the vicarage in September. Recently Simon had begun to spend most of his evenings over at the Cornells', and although this resulted in many a heartache for Claire, it did on the other hand give her the opportunity of helping Ken to get the place in order.

'What a shame your aunt is ill at this time,' she said one evening when, having laid new linoleum in the bathroom and kitchen, they were taking a well-deserved rest. Claire had made some tea and found, a number of limp, unappetizing biscuits. Poor Ken, she thought, he wasn't used to doing for himself. And he must be feeling very strange and lonely, in spite of his apparent cheerfulness. 'She's disappointed, too,' he nodded. 'As you know, she loves fustering about, as she calls it. I daresay she'll move everything when she gets here, she won't have the table there, for one thing. She likes it under the window. But it can stay until she comes.' 'She's coming out of hospital a week on Tuesday, you said?' 'Yes, she'll be here in less than a fortnight. I hope the place will be straight by then.' 'I'll come and help until it is,' she promised, and then, grabbing her coat, 'Look at the time. I must go!' 'We've done very well tonight, but there's still a good deal to be done.' He looked about rather helplessly. 'The curtains ...?' 'They won't take long; don't worry, Ken, I'll be here on Monday evening.' He walked with her to the car; she saw his eyes fixed on her ring as she rested her hands on the steering wheel; she felt unhappy at the expression of pain in his eyes and after a hasty good night she started up the engine and drove quickly away. Simon was gazing darkly into the dying embers of the fire as she entered the room. His eyes swept over her and past her to the clock on the wall, and then back to her again, and she felt a quiver of apprehension as he said,

'Do you know the time, Claire?' She fumbled with the buttons on her coat. 'I'm sorry, Simon—I didn't realize it was so late. I—I didn't think you would be in.' 'Where have you been?' 'Helping Ken.' She still had difficulty with her coat; the action seemed to cause his patience to snap. 'Rayner again?' Must you go over there every night?' 'I don't, Simon!' 'You've been there almost every night for the past two weeks,' he interrupted harshly. 'I won't have it from now on. Do you understand?' 'I can't allow you to interfere with my friendship with Ken,' Claire began gently. 'I've known him a long time, and I value his friendship. If you don't like my going, then I'm sorry, but -' 'Like? I forbid it. If you care nothing for the scandal, I do, and I'll not have you going over to that house and staying until midnight!' 'Midnight? Oh, how can you say such a thing? It's nowhere near midnight.' 'Till eleven, then. In any case, I don't know what time you come in when I'm not here.' 'I've never been as late as this -' 'That's only what you say!'

Claire made no further attempt to unfasten her coat; her eyes blazed and the angry colour flooded her cheeks. 'If you were in yourself then you'd know, wouldn't you?' she flashed. 'In any case, I shall please myself what time I come in—and I'll go to Ken's just whenever I like!' Simon stared at her, apparently unable to believe his ears. 'You'll do as I say.' His tones were almost menacingly quiet now and that old glint of arrogance entered his eyes. 'I don't intend to be made the laughing-stock of the village, so you can make up your mind to keep away from the vicarage.' 'Scandal—laughing-stock! It isn't difficult to guess where those came from! It's a pity, Simon, that you have nothing better to do than listen to—to Ursula's spiteful tale-carrying!' The fact that they were quarrelling began to hurt, and Claire felt painful little pricks behind her eyes. She felt ready to discuss the matter more rationally, even to yield in some measure to his wishes. She was willing to suggest she go along to the vicarage in the afternoons; there could scarcely be any room for scandal then. But Simon's attitude was rigid, and the inflexible set of his mouth convinced her that he was in no mood even to listen to her suggestion. He told her, in the same soft and threatening voice, that he had no need to heed anyone's tale-carrying. He knew what went on in a small village like this; people would gossip, not with any malicious intent, but because there was little else for them to do. 'So I insist on your being more discreet,' he added, either unaware of the hint of dampness on her lashes, or determined to ignore it. 'I can't consent to your going to his house. If you must see him, invite him here, or meet him at Mrs. Hardman's.'

'I'm helping him to put the house straight,' she returned, angered again by his use of the words 'insist' and 'consent'. 'I told you about his aunt. Naturally he wants her to take things easy when she comes out of hospital.' She paused and then, defiantly, 'I've promised to help him and I mean to keep that promise.' 'Claire,' he said softly, fixing her gaze, 'you will respect my wishes.' Her lip trembled, but she remained resolute. She had given her promise and she saw no way of breaking it without some embarrassing explanation. In any case, Ken was her friend; he relied on her help and she had no intention of letting him down. 'You wouldn't break a promise, so why should you expect me to? When everything's straight I'll observe your wishes and invite Ken to visit us here.' She stared up at him, unhappy, and fighting back the tears. His reaction was a further tightening of his lips. . 'You'll observe my wishes from tonight,' he said inexorably, and then, stifling a yawn, he announced his intention of going to bed. 'But we haven't settled this matter,' Claire put in quickly. 'My mind's made up, Simon.' 'So is mine.' 'But—-' 'I hope you won't find it too much to arrange a small dinner for a fortnight tomorrow. I've invited a few friends; it's quite an informal affair.,' 'You want me to be there?' she asked, Ken momentarily forgotten.

'Naturally.' Something in the way he said that, and a softness in the glance he gave her, caused her pulses to quicken as on the night he had thanked her for bringing him and Lindy together. 'Simon ...' she began breathlessly. 'There's no need to look so anxious, Claire, I'm sure you'll manage very well.' The moment was lost; she sagged with disappointment, suddenly very tired, and weighed down by the strain of her quarrel with Simon. 'I'll try,' she said, without much interest. 'I'm going , to bed now myself; good night, Simon.' Later as she lay awake going over the scene in her mind, Claire became bewildered by Simon's adamant attitude regarding Ken and herself. She would never have believed he could allow himself to be affected by village gossip; on the contrary, she could picture his remaining arrogantly aloof, treating it with indifference, even contempt. Why then had he been so furiously angry at ,the idea of her spending her evenings at the vicarage with Ken? It was all so baffling, but although she dwelt on it for a long while she failed to hit upon any satisfactory explanation and at last she dismissed the matter, realizing just how little she knew of her fiance and his everchanging moods.

The following afternoon she and Lindy went over to the waste, as usual. Lindy, attired in jeans and armed with a toy rake, looked ready to tackle anything.

'It's beginning to look like a real garden now, isn't it, Claire? Don't you think Uncle Simon was kind to buy me all those bushes and plants?' Claire agreed, with a rather absent nod of her head. She was frowning slightly. 'Now about this lawn—are you quite sure your mind is made up this time?' 'Quite, quite sure, Claire.' 'I sincerely hope so. We've had this patch as a rock garden -' 'But you agreed it wouldn't look right because we couldn't find enough big rocks.' 'Then we had it as a shrubbery.' 'You did agree it took all the sun off that part.' 'And now a lawn. You won't change your mind again, Lindy?' 'Cross my heart.' 'Right! We'll take these two shrubs out again and begin raking. If we don't put the seed in this week it will be too late.' 'Shall I dig them out?' Lindy asked staunchly. 'Or shall I rake the other part?' 'You can rake the other part.' Claire had laughingly informed Simon of Lindy's repeated change of plan, but he hadn't been amused. It was all too much for Claire, he had stated, telling her to enlist the aid of one of the gardeners. Lindy

had raised objections to this, saying vaguely that it 'wouldn't be the same' if they didn't do it all themselves. Hot and breathless from the exertion of digging out the bushes, Claire straightened up, putting a hand to her back. Simon was standing there, regarding her with a heavy frown. 'I thought I told you not to do this.' Dropping her rake, Lindy ran to him. 'It's my fault,' she owned. 'Claire said we must have Fryer, but I didn't want him.' 'Either you have help or you leave it alone.' 'But it isn't the same when you pay someone,' she tried to explain. 'We didn't mind about the rubbish, but we wanted to make the garden ourselves. I mean,' she corrected as Claire glanced at her with a half smile, 'I wanted to make it ourselves.' She looked up, in that truly feminine coaxing manner she had now begun to find worked wonders with her uncle. 'You know what she means, Simon?' Claire put in, still smiling. 'I think, I agree with her, in a way. It will all be very easy once the garden's actually made. You do understand?' she added, watching his expression suddenly change. 'Yes, yes, I do.' And with an unexpected hint of amusement in his eyes he took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. 'I won't ask for any pay,' he laughed, taking the spade from Claire. 'Are you going to help?' gasped Lindy. 'I don't appear to have any alternative.'

They worked steadily, levelling the ground and raking it over and over again. Simon had just begun to roll it when Claire reminded Lindy of her bedtime. 'Not yet... please?' She cast appealing eyes at her uncle, and then, without further argument, 'All right, Claire, but I'm not a little bit tired—I am hungry, though,' she said. 'Terribly hungry.' 'So am I,' said Claire, scraping the soil off her shoes with a piece of slate. 'I could eat two big pieces of Tilda's cream cake. What could you eat, Claire?' 'Lots and lots of fish and chips,' she replied impulsively, and went on to tell Lindy how, as a little girl, she used to go to the cinema every Saturday night with her father. 'When we came out we'd buy fish and chips and a bottle of lemonade, then we'd sit and have our supper in the car.' Lindy's eyes were dancing. 'That must have been fun!' 'It was rather.' 'Can we do that?' Lindy turned impulsively to her uncle. 'It's Saturday tomorrow, so I can stay up later, can't I? Can I go with Claire to the pictures and have fish and chips in the car?' 'No, dear.' Claire bit her lip, wishing she had held her tongue. 'It would be much too late for you.' Simon had stopped working and was studying them both curiously. 'But just for once, Claire?'

She shook her head; Lindy immediately became downcast and Claire went on to promise that they would do it some day, when Lindy was older. Lindy appeared for a moment to accept that, but she must have noticed Simon's rather indulgent expression, for she decided to try again. 'Can we, Uncle Simon?' She waited expectantly for his reply and both she and Claire gazed at him unbelievingly when he said that he thought it a very good idea and as he himself had nothing of importance on tomorrow night, they would all go to the cinema and have supper in the car afterwards.

CHAPTER IX THE outing proved to be one of those rare occasions when all Claire's fears for the future were dispelled. For the most part, her engagement always seemed to have no foundation, no certainty. But as she sat there, sharing the front seat of the car with Simon and Lindy, her heart lifted and she felt a deep sense of security and happiness. Her engagement to Simon was strong, indestructible. Nothing could ever come between them. There had been no doubt about Simon's appreciative glance as, taking her coat as they went out to the car, he had said, 'You look charming, Claire,' and he had added, 'I must find you some jewellery. Remind me if I forget.' Later, Claire had marvelled at his patience as, excited with the film, Lindy plied him with questions. Repeatedly he whispered to her to be quiet, for she often spoke impulsively, forgetting his warnings that she must not annoy other people, but always he answered her questions. On the way home they stopped for the fish and chips; Simon found a secluded spot and drew into the side. They sat there, under the towering heights of Helvellyn. Lindy declared it to be great fun, and Simon seemed almost boyish, eating his supper from a paper and drinking his lemonade from a bottle. 'Can we do this every Saturday?' Lindy wanted to know, turning to him eagerly. 'I don't see why not, do you, Claire?' 'Have you really enjoyed it?' she asked with a hint of uncertainty. 'Really,' he smiled.

That seemed to settle the matter and it was arranged that the Saturday visit to the cinema should be regarded as a regular outing from now on. 'I somehow expected you to be bored,' Claire admitted later when, having joined him in the sitting- room after putting Lindy to bed, she sat down on the couch opposite to him. He was working, but he looked up, lowering the papers on to his knee. 'I imagine it would be most difficult to be bored with both you and Lindy around,' he said, bringing a flush of pleasure to her face. 'No, Claire, I thoroughly enjoyed it and I think it was an excellent idea of yours.' He hesitated, then put his papers away on to a side table by the wall. Abruptly, unexpectedly, he held out a hand; Claire reached across to put hers into it. She felt for the first time the strength and the gentleness of his clasp and a mingling of pleasure and pain shot through her. Once again she sighed for what she was missing; the period of her engagement should have been one of the happiest of her life. She noticed, as he held her hand, that his expression changed and a slight frown crossed his brow. His glance became searching, reminding her of the way he had looked at her the night he had informed her of Ken's appointment to the living of Melhurst. She had the odd sensation that, once again, he was trying to discover her feelings for Ken. She met his gaze unflinchingly, and with another completely unexpected gesture he stood up, bringing her up, too, and drawing her close to him, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. 'Claire, dear, something tells me that it's time you and I had a little talk -' His hands dropped to his sides as the door opened and Tilda came in, a troubled expression in her eyes. 'The telephone, Simon—it's Ursula. She sounds most perturbed.'

'Her father?' Simon turned to Claire. 'I forgot to tell you, but he had a slight seizure this morning and I told Ursula to send over if she needed me. Don't wait up, dear, I may be late.' ' 'Such a nice man,' said Tilda as Simon left the room. 'A great pity, a great pity. You have met him, of course?' . 'Simon did introduce us once. I'm sorry he's ill. Is it serious, do you think?' 'It could be,' she answered sadly. 'He's had several of these turns lately. But I do hope he'll recover for his daughter's sake. She has only one other relative, an aunt who lives in France. I expect the poor girl will have to go and live with her, if anything happens.' Claire went up to her room, her mind filled with pity, all Ursula's spitefulness and treachery forgotten. She waited a long while before undressing, hoping for Simon's return so that she could ask about Mr. Cornell's condition, but when the clock chimed the hour of midnight she decided _to go to bed. What had Simon been about to say to her? she wondered, recalling that he had called her 'dear' and not 'my dear' which was his customary way of speaking to her and which meant nothing at all. After puzzling over this for some considerable time Claire became suddenly wide awake. Surely she must be wrong, and yet ... no, she wasn't wrong. She knew, without the slightest doubt, what Simon had been going to say to her. The moment she entered the breakfast-room on the following morning Claire stifled the question on her lips. Simon's grey countenance, the grim little lines round his mouth, told their own story. She just stood there, waiting for him to speak. 'Two o'clock this morning,' he told her, sensing she had already guessed. 'Ursula's in a terrible state. I didn't like leaving her. She

needs the company of a woman; will you go over after breakfast?' He asked the question doubtfully, yet with an added hint of persuasion. 'Well... yes, Simon, but...' 'I know you dislike her, but this isn't the time to remember your differences, Claire.' 'I was only going to say -' 'Nothing matters, except that she needs a woman. Are you going or not?' 'Certainly I'll go.' Claire's lips trembled. She had merely been going to ask if he was sure Ursula would want her, but she kept silent, knowing that his impatience resulted mainly from fatigue. Lindy dashed in and sat down at the table, then commenced her usual animated chatter and Simon, after a while, told her sharply to be quiet. The child stared at him unbelievingly, her eyes suddenly bright, and Claire hastily took away the empty grapefruit bowl and gave her an egg and some toast, then began talking about her garden. 'Now take Desmond for his Sunday morning walk. He looks forward to its being a little longer today, you know,' she added. 'Aren't you coming?' 'Not yet. Run along, darling.' With another glance at her uncle Lindy obeyed. When she had left the room Claire's attention turned again to Simon. What was he thinking? she wondered, unable to control the apprehensive hammering of her heart. He was filled with pity for Ursula, and

probably remorse, too. Was he thinking he had treated her ' shabbily, that he should not have hurt her by becoming engaged to another girl? 'The sale of the stock and implements takes place on Thursday and Friday, as you know, and that will proceed as planned. But Ursula's decided to sell up the entire property and she wants me to manage everything for her, so I expect I shall be very busy for the next week or two.' He went on to ask Claire to find his engagement book, for there were several engagements he wanted to cancel. This did not seem to be among his papers and she proceeded to go through the drawers. As was his custom whenever she sat down, Rex put his nose on her knee. With slight impatience she pushed him aside and then, noticing how he slunk off with his tail between his legs, she spoke softly to him. Instantly his tail began to wag again, but, sensing he was in the way, he settled himself quietly beside her and began to chew to pieces some papers from the wastepaper basket. Claire took no notice; it kept him occupied and she could soon pick up the scraps of paper afterwards. On opening one drawer of the desk she realized that it contained only papers that had belonged to his father, papers which related mainly to the Shrievalty, so she left this alone and went on to examine the contents of the drawer on the opposite side, where she immediately found the book. All these drawers required tidying out, she thought, deciding to ask Simon if he would like her to do this for him. 'Rex!' He took his nose out of the drawer and slunk away. 'Oh!' Some of the papers were on the floor, torn to shreds. 'However did I come to leave the drawer open!' The first time Simon had asked her to do anything for him and this was the result!

With agitated fingers she picked up some of the scraps and tried to sort them out. The letter from the Privy Council informing Simon's father that his name would stand first on the List of Nominees to be brought forward in the King's Bench Division of the High Court of Justice in November; the letter informing him that he would shortly receive the Warrant appointing him High Sheriff of the county. All neatly put together, the sort of letters his son would naturally wish to keep. With growing apprehension Claire put the scraps of paper in a pile on the corner of the desk; she was wondering how she could tell Simon of her carelessness when, catching sight of a piece of paper she had missed, she felt her heart turn over. Frantically, she sorted out the scraps again, trying to find the missing pieces. 'At the court of Buckingham Palace, the tenth day of March, nineteen -' The date was missing. Claire found one or two pieces which fitted in. 'At the court at Buckingham Palace, the tenth day of March, nineteen hundred and ...' The Royal Warrant! How ever Simon might be disposed to forgive the destruction of the others, he would naturally be furious about this. Almost in tears, she fixed another piece. 'By Her Majesty's Command'. 'Haven't you found it yet?' Simon had been having a shave, and seemed surprised to find Claire still there. 'You'd better leave it and go to Ursula.' 'Simon ...' Claire stood up and, putting her head in her hands, she started to cry. 'Simon—oh, it's awful!' For a moment he could only stare at her in amazement. 'What on earth's the matter?' 'I've done a terrible thing. All your private papers - I l-left the drawer open and—and Rex ...' She was unable to go on, and Simon, his eyes resting momentarily on the Warrant which she had been

trying to piece together, produced his handkerchief and tipped up her face to dry her eyes. 'Has Rex been chewing things again?' he asked gently. 'I'll never forgive myself, never -' She stopped and blinked at him in disbelief. 'Is that all you have to say? It's the Warrant.' 'What did you expect me to say?' 'But the Warrant,' she repeated, with emphasis. 'That, above all things!' She began to cry again. 'You must have wanted to keep it— you must have!' 'Naturally I wanted to keep it. On the other hand, I don't want it to cause you all this distress. It was an accident -' 'No, Simon, it was my carelessness. I left the drawer open.' 'It was an accident,' he repeated, 'and no amount of crying can do any good now, so dry your eyes and forget all about it.' 'I'll never be able to forget it,' she sobbed tragically, and at that his face broke into a smile of amusement. 'Nonsense!' He dried her eyes again, searching her face. 'What really upset you, Claire?' 'Those papers, all destroyed, but the Warrant mostly.' 'No... You were afraid of what I would say. You looked terrified; surely you knew I'd excuse an accident?' 'You had every right to be annoyed.'

'I'm afraid I shall be very annoyed if you don't stop crying,' he warned, though in the gentlest tones he had ever used to her. 'I'll paste it on to a piece of card. And if I do it carefully -' 'Scrap it, child, and let's hear no more about it.' 'Please, Simon,' she begged. 'I must; it will make me feel a little better.' 'Very well, but Rex might have eaten some of it, you know.' 'I never thought of that. He won't have, surely?' She glanced at him uncertainly, saw his smile of amusement and realized he was teasing her. She smiled up at him gratefully and, without warning, he bent his head and kissed her on the lips. Lindy came in, followed by Desmond. Her eyes fairly danced. 'Oh, are you loving each other?' 'Something of the sort,' was his cool rejoinder as Claire flushed with embarrassment. 'I waited near the summer-house, but you never went,' Lindy confided, looking from one to the other with extreme satisfaction. 'Sally said it must be the summer-house—but I suppose here would do as well,' she added on sudden doubt. 'It's a little cold for the summer-house,' he observed with some amusement. 'Another time, perhaps.' 'Well, I'm glad you were loving each other, because now I know you're going to be married.' 'Did you doubt it?' he asked, a strange inflection in his voice.

'I don't know.' For a moment she seemed uncertain, and then brightly, 'But I do know now. I'm sure, because you were loving each other.' Was it as simple as that? Claire wondered. Was his kiss proof that nothing could prevent their marriage? If he loved her, yes. But she was still rather uncertain as to his real feelings for her.

Claire stayed with Ursula all day. Simon had been over once or twice and it had been his idea that Claire should stay to lunch. Lindy was quite all right with Tilda, he said. She'd been 'helping' with the baking. 'Will you come again tomorrow?' Ursula asked when Claire finally rose to leave. 'Yes, as soon as I've taken Lindy to school.' On the way back to the Tower Claire felt ashamed of her thoughts, and yet she could not rid herself of the conviction that Ursula's grief, for the most part, was a pose, that she was exploiting the situation. Simon spent the whole evening with Ursula, and after putting Lindy to bed Claire went along to spend an hour or two with Meg and Jim, who had already heard the news. The topic of conversation was, naturally, Ursula's future. Meg hinted that everyone had expected her to marry Simon Condliffe. Claire ignored that. She was well aware that Meg had been bitterly disappointed over her engagement to Simon. Meg had always had a very soft spot for Ken. 'Now, Meg, Claire's doings are none of our business,' submitted Jim, waving an admonishing finger at his wife. 'I know that, but -Oh well, as you say, it's none of our business.'

'Do you ... do people think that I ... shouldn't have become engaged to Simon?' Claire asked the question with difficulty, feeling sure that the villagers, with their long-established loyalties towards the people at the Hall, would be sure to consider her in the light of an interloper. To her relief Meg assured her that she had never heard any criticism of Claire's engagement, and she went on to say that most of the villagers now realized they had taken too much for granted regarding the relationship between Simon and Ursula. 'Put the kettle on, Meg,' said Jim after a while. 'You are staying to supper, Claire?' 'I don't mind a drink, but nothing to eat. Sit down, Meg, I'll do it.' She rose and filled the kettle; she was just putting it on the stove when Meg came up behind her. 'Jim grumbles when I speak about things that don't concern me, but I can't help worrying about you, Claire dear. Are you sure you're acting wisely in marrying Mr. Condliffe?' 'I know what I'm doing, Meg,' she returned quietly. 'You mustn't worry about me; I shall be quite happy, I assure you.' 'You see, Jim and I have always looked upon you rather in the light of a daughter, even when your father was alive, and we do want to see you happy.' She still appeared doubtful, despite Claire's emphatic assertion that everything was going to be all right. 'I've said I know what I'm doing—and I'm not a child, Meg.' Claire regarded her curiously. 'What makes you so anxious?' Meg hesitated, watching Claire reach for the tray and begin to set put the cups and saucers upon it.

'To be candid, when you told me of the engagement I had my doubts immediately. And when I asked if Mr. Condliffe wanted to marry you because of how you were with Lindy you blushed -' 'No, Meg, you're mistaken -' 'You blushed,' Meg insisted. 'And I felt certain that he—well, that he wasn't exactly desperately in love with you.' Claire turned away, searching in the cupboard for the biscuits. She could not feel angry with Meg, or even indignant, for her concern was clearly genuine. Nevertheless, she spoke quite firmly and in tones meant to convince Meg that she wished to end at once this discussion about herself. 'Simon and I would never have contemplated marriage unless we were absolutely sure we'd be happy together. Our future is something we must work out for ourselves, Meg, and although I do appreciate your concern, I assure you it's quite unnecessary.' 'I understand.' Meg shrugged, and went back to join her husband in the kitchen. Claire made the tea, put it on the tray and was just about to carry it in when she heard a light step on the path, followed by a gentle tap on the door. Putting down the tray, Claire opened the door to find a pretty, golden-haired girl of about eighteen standing on the step. 'Is Mrs. Hardman in?' she enquired shyly. 'Come inside—I'll tell her,' Claire smiled, and closed the door. 'Is that Pat?' Meg called out. 'Yes, Mrs. Hardman. I've come for the book you promised to lend Mother.'

'Come in, dear, come in.' Claire followed with the tray and Meg introduced them. She learned that Pat's mother had come to housekeep for Mr. Saunders, the lively bachelor who lived at Thorney Fen, a small but delightful black and white house not far from the church. Meg offered Pat a cup of tea and she accepted, sitting down on the chair which Claire had brought for her. 'Don't be shy of Claire. You'll probably be seeing a good deal of her, for she drops in to see us quite often.' As she went out to fetch another cup and saucer Claire felt instinctively that she would like this girl who, somehow, reminded her of Lindy. 'I knew Pat's mother as a girl,' Meg told Claire as she poured the tea. 'I felt ever so pleased when I knew she was coming to Thorney Fen.' Claire gave Pat her tea, asking her how she liked living at Melhurst. 'I love it,' she replied enthusiastically. 'Mother used to try to describe the mountains and the fells, but I had no idea they'd be so beautiful. And that lovely house—and Mr. Saunders so nice. Everything's just perfect.' 'There are some wonderful walks,' Claire told her. 'You must come with Lindy and me sometimes; we enjoy walking. There's a footpath from the Tower to Grasmere, you'd love that lake, it's larger than Rydal and just as pretty.' 'I'd like that very much,' Pat smiled; Claire noticed her eyes, large and blue and set widely apart. Meg fetched the book and when Pat had finished her tea she rose to go.

'Can I come again tomorrow evening, for a chat?' And, when Jim nodded, she asked if Claire would be coming, too. Jim answered for her. 'Not tomorrow, Pat. Claire does drop in often, but at present she's helping our new minister to settle in at the vicarage. He's only just come, I expect you already know?' 'Yes.' Her voice went flat and her eyes flickered to Claire's ring. 'You're a great friend of his, aren't you?' 'They're old friends,' interposed Meg. 'By the way, your mother said something about your wanting to teach at Sunday school -Is anything wrong?' 'No.' Pat's gaze was still fixed on Claire's ring; she appeared to be fascinated by it. 'Oh, I see what you're looking at. Isn't it a beautiful ring? Claire's engaged to Mr. Condliffe up at the Tower. You can see his house from Thorney Fen, just through the trees.' 'Mr. Condliffe?' No doubt about Pat's sigh of relief and Claire's eyes flickered strangely. 'He's very important round here, isn't he?' She looked at Claire with an expression of awed admiration. 'Mr. Saunders says he owns all the land in and around the village.' 'Practically all,' said Meg. 'Mr. Corwell owns some, but his estate is small in comparison to Mr. Condliffe's.' 'Did you see Mr. Rayner about teaching at Sunday school?' asked Claire, changing the subject. 'Yes. I told him I'd taught where we used to live. He said he'd be pleased to have me, and I start next Sunday.'

'So I expect you'll be joining the youth club he's intending to organize,' put in Meg. 'You'll be able to help him with that, maybe?' 'Yes ... he told me all about the plans he's making. It sounds very exciting.' "there was a hint of breathlessness in her voice and again Claire regarded her strangely. 'You must have been there quite a while, then?' 'I was, yes.' She paused, flushing slightly. 'He had some steak in the frying pan and he asked me to tell him when it was done. As he'd only just put it on, and as it was rather tough, it took quite a long time to cook.' 'Poor Ken!' Meg cast a faintly reproachful glance in Claire's direction. 'His dinner's been burnt twice this week. He's never used an electric cooker. Did you show him how to regulate the heat, Pat?' 'Yes; he understands it now.' 'Apparently his aunt would never have an electric cooker, but she'll have to get used to it here because we don't have any gas in the village. His aunt's in hospital, I expect he told you?' Ken, it appeared, had told Pat a good deal, Claire mused as Pat nodded in reply to Meg's question. 'I've been wondering,' said Meg, looking at Claire, 'whether you should tell Ken, when you see him tomorrow, that he really ought to have Mrs. Lomax in each day for a week or two. Apparently his aunt has said she can manage, but surely it isn't safe for her to begin working in the house right away? There'll be the shopping, too, and what with the shops being such a long way off -' 'I've promised to do his shopping,' Pat cut in quickly. 'I also asked Mr. Rayner if I could help in the house—because I haven't a job

yet—and he said I could call as soon as his aunt comes, and she'll tell me if I can go in each day and help her.' She looked at Claire, as if for support. 'That sounds an excellent idea,' she said. 'And if you're doing the shopping as well, there ' doesn't appear to be any necessity to ask Mrs. Lomax's help.' 'No... ' Meg appeared to be rather doubtful. 'It's a large house—but if you think you can manage?' Pat eagerly assured Meg that she would manage very well, and then said she ought to be going. Claire decided to go, too, and they left the cottage together. 'I go this way,' said Pat, on a trembling note. 'I wish it weren't so dark. I didn't mean to stay so long—don't people object to having no lights on the roads?' 'They all fought against it,' Claire told her. 'Everyone agreed that artificial lighting spoils the country lanes.' 'I suppose I'll soon get used to it.' Pat's voice still quivered and Claire felt rather anxious about leaving her. 'Are you very, scared?' 'N-no. Claire hesitated; she wasn't very brave herself on the lonely country lanes; they always seemed rather eerie in the dark, owing to the overshadowing scars and fells. No sooner had she stepped from Meg's cottage than she wished she had brought the car. 'I'll come with you,' she offered, aware that Pat was actually shivering beside her. She was rewarded by a most fervent 'thank

you', but almost immediately Pat asked if she was sure she didn't mind. 'Not at all. I've plenty of time.' Simon, she reflected, would be at Ursula's, preparing for the forthcoming sale of the stock and the land. She saw Pat to her gate and had not been walking many minutes when she became aware of a light behind her. A few seconds later the trees, the lane and surrounding slopes were illuminated by two powerful headlamps. The car drew up and Simon opened the door. 'I never expected to see you,' she gasped in relief as she got into the car and sat down beside him. 'Obviously!' The car shot forward; Claire moved away into the corner. 'You said you wouldn't be leaving Ursula's until about eleven,' she reminded him. 'I naturally thought you were still there.' 'And I naturally thought,' he returned, a metallic edge to his voice, 'that you were at Mrs. Hardman's.' 'That's where I have been, Simon.' A slight pause, and then, 'Mrs. Hardman does live in Rose Lane?' It was a statement; Claire sat bolt upright. 'Do you think I would lie to you?' she asked with sudden comprehension.

Another silence. Then, remorsefully, he sought her hand in the darkness and gave it an affectionate squeeze. 'Sorry, Claire. But what are you doing down here? I don't like your being out alone at night. Why didn't you take the other car?' 'I felt the walk would do me good.' Claire went on to explain what had happened and while Simon had to agree that it would have been unkind to allow Pat to go home alone, he did tell her not to do it again, saying she must use the car if she thought she wouldn't be home before dark. 'Yes, I will take the car in future,' she agreed. 'As a matter of fact, I wasn't in the least brave myself, and your coming seemed like an answer to a prayer. Where have you been?' she asked after a pause. The Hall was in the other direction altogether. 'Taking a message to an acquaintance of Ursula's. She tried to contact her on the phone, but it was out of order.' Soon they were climbing along the narrow lane leading to the Tower, with the wooded slopes of High Fell rising to their right and the cliffs of Nab Scar ahead. The moon shone on the lake and from the far distance came the whistling cries of a flock of redwings, those gregarious winter migrants coming over to avoid the harsh winters of Scandinavia and northern Europe. 'The berries will soon disappear now,' Simon remarked with a grimace. 'The redwings are great berry eaters.' 'Meg says they always arrive at night. I wonder why that is?' 'I don't expect they all arrive at night. It's just that, you notice them more when everything is still and silent. That whistling note identifies them, and as they always come in fairly large numbers, you can't fail to hear them.' He turned into the drive and, the car put

away, they walked slowly into the house. A log fire blazed in the sitting-room; Simon's hand hovered on the light switch and Claire saw him hesitate before snapping it on. With a tinge of disappointment she crossed the room and sat down in the big armchair by the fire. Simon remained standing, his gaze fixed curiously upon her; she turned to look up, and wondered what he was thinking. Somehow she felt he was again doubting the truth of her statement that she had spent the evening with Meg and Jim. The idea hurt. If he didn't trust her, then how could he expect their marriage to be a success? He continued to stand there, his eyes narrowed and searching, and then, with a totally unexpected action, he reached down for her hand. She rose to her feet, breathless and expectant as his arms encircled her. But there was no tenderness in his kisses. They were rough, possessive; not the kisses a man gives to a woman he loves, or even respects. Shocked, Claire wrenched herself free, her lips trembling and her eyes bright with suppressed tears. At her action his mouth compressed and a terrible harshness entered his voice. 'Don't stare at me like that! My kisses may be distasteful to you, but you're engaged to me, and I have certain rights!' 'Rights?' She stared at him frozenly. 'Is that why you kissed me?' 'Why else? There's no love between us, is there?' 'No,' she whispered faintly, in an agony of helplessness and doubt. Was it only last night that she had felt so sure he was going to declare his love for her? The logs on the fire slipped and as one fell on the hearth they both instinctively reached for the tongs. Their fingers touched before Claire sat back on her chair and left Simon to replace the log. The

action released the tension and when he straightened up the harshness had left his face. 'I'm sorry I kissed you; it won't happen again.' And then he abruptly changed the subject, telling her that he would not be going over to the Hall on the following evening. 'You're staying in?' she asked quickly, too quickly, and again his eyes narrowed. 'Yes, I must catch up with some of my own paper work.' He watched her closely, suspicious and alert. 'Perhaps you would like to help me?' 'If you wish,' she replied in a low voice. 'I don't know what to do, though.' 'I can show you,' he said tersely. 'There's nothing very difficult.' How would she keep her promise to Ken now? Claire wondered dismally, trying to calculate how much was still to be done. Ken would have been working hard all day, so perhaps he had almost finished. There were the last of the curtains to be put up. They were already made, so that shouldn't take long. She could fix them in less than an hour, she thought. If Simon were out in the morning—and most likely he would be—she could go to the vicarage then, on her way from Ambleside after dropping Lindy off at school. Yes, that was a good idea. The problem appeared to be solved.

CHAPTER X 'UNCLE SIMON, can I come with you the next time you go hunting?' 'Certainly not. You're too young.' Simon reached for the marmalade, and, then passed his empty coffee cup to Claire. 'I'm not! Sally Mountfield went last year, and she was only five then.' Lindy waited for a reply, but none came. 'I want everyone to see my beautiful pony—and no one can see it here, when I'm just riding about the fields.' She waited again, her eyes wide with that persuasive expression which had worked wonders with her uncle since her illness. He ignored it and a little pout appeared. 'Sally is going ...?' Still no response. 'She has a white pony and we want to see which is the whitest.' 'The whiter, dear.' Claire passed Lindy the toast and butter. 'No, the whitest,' Lindy returned, looking at Claire in some puzzlement. 'Dawn says that Sally's had some grey on it. I do hope so.' She helped herself to toast and began to butter it. 'Sally says it hasn't, but I do hope it has,' she said again. 'Why do you hope that?' asked Claire curiously. 'Because she wants to call hers Snowball. And I want to call mine Snowball.' 'Can't you both call your ponies Snowball?' interposed Simon in some amusement. Lindy looked shocked. 'No, of course not!'

'But why not?' Claire wanted to know, glancing at Simon and responding to his smile of amusement. 'Because one of us would be a copy-cat—and we wouldn't even know which one it was.' 'In that case, it doesn't seem to matter very much who calls their pony Snowball.' 'Who first thought of the name?' Claire asked, and there was a small hesitation. 'Well... Sally, really....' 'Then Sally must call her pony Snowball,' her uncle told her decisively. 'You must find another name.' 'We've decided that the whitest one shall be called Snowball. And that's why I want to go with you to the Hunt next week. Sally will be there and we can decide which of us can have the name. I told Sally I'd be coming with you, Uncle Simon.' 'Did you, indeed?' 'Please...?' 'As a matter of fact, I don't think I'll be going myself.' He glanced at the clock and then at Claire. She had finished her breakfast and she rose at once. 'Ready, Lindy?' 'About the Hunt -' 'Off to school; we'll talk about it another time.' He did not appear to be in any hurry. Surely he wasn't staying in?

'Are you going out this morning?' she asked hesitantly, and saw him knit his brows, eyeing her with unmistakable suspicion. 'I am, Claire.' He paused. 'Ursula said you were going over there later—when you've taken Lindy to school.' 'No, it was this afternoon,' Claire put in quickly. 'Then there's been some mistake. She's expecting you this morning.' The emphasis on that last sentence was clear. In fact, it almost constituted an order. Claire bit her lip, wondering again how she was to manage the assistance she had promised Ken. Hesitating by the door, she felt tempted to be frank with Simon and ask him if he would mind her going, just for this once. But she refrained, for two reasons. First, she resented having to obtain permission, and secondly, she was convinced of a refusal—in which case she would not be able to go at all. Ken was relying on her and she had no intention of letting him down. Simon's attitude was unreasonable, adamant, and she would not tolerate being dictated to. She went to Ursula's on her return from taking Lindy to school, fully expecting to spend only the rest of the morning up at the Hall, but to her dismay, Ursula wanted her to return after lunch and remain with her until it was time to go into Ambleside for Lindy. 'I don't know, Ursula,' she began. 'I have things to do.' She felt undecided, convinced that if she didn't do as Ursula wished, Simon would hear of it. And as there was—or appeared to be—no valid reason why she shouldn't stay with Ursula, Simon would question her reason for refusing. 'Please, Claire. I get so depressed here on my Own. You do help, you know.' Ursula sounded so sincere, and Claire felt angry with herself, and ashamed, for regarding everything the other girl said

with suspicion. But she thought again of Ken, and of his aunt's coming out of hospital. Everything must be ready and easy for her. 'Perhaps Simon will be coming over this afternoon. He has things to do for you—things to do with the sale?' 'Yes, but he also has his own work to attend to. I can't expect him to be here all the time. He promised to come over, tomorrow some time to help me sort out what I want to keep—in the way of furniture, that is; and he'll have to be" here die following day for the funeral. No, I don't expect he'll be here today at all.' She looked so unhappy that Claire found it impossible to refuse. But she insisted on leaving at half past two. That would give her an hour before picking up Lindy. That should suffice, for all the curtain fittings had already been fixed by Ken. 'Oh, must you go so soon?' Ursula's eyes had an odd gleam, but Claire attached no importance to it. She was being far too distrustful of Ursula, she chided herself. It was unkind to be continually suspecting her of some spiteful intention. 'Can't you stay for another hour? You don't have to be in Ambleside until a quarter to four. It isn't going to take you over an hour to go three miles.' 'I have a call to make,' said Claire guardedly, and the other girl shrugged. 'Very well. I suppose I should be grateful that you come at all after my treatment of you.' Again that apparent sincerity yet, against her will, Claire frowned. She wished she could trust Ursula, but, try as she would, these ungenerous thoughts persisted. To Claire's intense relief Simon had gone into Keswick on business, after having an early lunch. Hurrying over her own, she pressed the curtains and put them in the car, spreading them over the back seat

so as to avoid creasing them. Then she returned to the Hall and spent another hour with Ursula. 'I'll come to the car with you,' Ursula offered as Claire was leaving, and Claire returned quickly, 'I wouldn't, Ursula. There's a cool wind blowing.' An odd smiled curved the other girl's lips and she looked straight into Claire's eyes. 'Is there? I didn't notice it an hour ago when I came out to see if you were coming.' Her voice drawled, and for some inexplicable reason Claire's pulses quickened. 'I wouldn't doubt your word, though, so I won't come out.' Claire breathed a sigh of relief. She had purposely left the car further along the drive, so that its contents could not be seen from the sitting-room window. If Ursula had insisted on walking to the car with her, all her caution would have been in vain. Surprised to see her, Ken eyed her keenly as she explained that Simon wanted her to help him with his work, and therefore she* had come now instead of during the evening. 'Does he object to your coming here?' Ken asked bluntly, and her sudden flush answered him. 'I—not—not really——' 'Don't pretend, Claire. I already had my suspicions. Well, I suppose you have compensations. Women like their lovers to be jealous, I understand.' Jealous! A bleak smile touched her lips. She could not even tell Ken the truth, good friend though he was, If only Simon were her lover!

If jealousy were the reason for his not wishing her to come here ... how deliriously happy she would be! They went up to Mrs. Rayner's room to fix the curtains. Seeing Ken fumbling with the hooks, she was glad she had made this determined effort -to come. He couldn't have managed alone. When both windows were finished, Ken and Claire stood back to admire the room. Ken had brought out a pink candlewick bedspread which his aunt had had put away for years, all carefully wrapped up in paper. He had also bought a new rug and bedside lamp. 'I expect she'll tell me off for bringing out the bedspread,' he grinned. 'She will hoard things—what for I never can fathom!' 'All old people do,' said Claire, smiling. 'Meg has some lovely bed linen and other things tucked away carefully in cupboards and drawers.' She went over to the window. The view was similar to that from some of the rooms at the Tower. Rising in front were the heights of Loughrigg Fell, with lovely Rydal Water shining in the sunshine and its little islands making black smudges on the surface. The river wound its way round the spur after leaving the lake and went merrily on towards Beck-Pane Wood. From the other window of Mrs. Rayner's room the church could be seen, nestling amid ancient yews beneath the background of Nab Scar. 'I don't expect the scene has changed much in the last five or six hundred years.' Ken came up to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. 'I'm going to be happy here, Claire, very happy.' 'I'm sure of it,' she declared, and for no reason at all, began to think of Pat. A lovely girl, no doubt of that, and a sweet nature, too. Claire turned to look at Ken; his eyes met hers ... and there lay in their depths an odd expression of pain, despite his assertion that he was going to be happy. Strangely, the disappointment which Ken

obviously felt at her engagement to Simon did not trouble Claire any more. And neither did the look in his eyes. 'Yes, Ken, I'm sure indeed that you'll be happy in Melhurst.' They went downstairs again, and Ken urged Claire to stay for a cup of tea. 'I really can't Ken. I must go and fetch Lindy. Those kids get up to all sorts of mischief if they're left playing about outside school.' 'You could have come earlier.' He seemed bitterly disappointed at not being able to have a cup of tea with her. 'Or wouldn't he let you?' 'Ken, that's not like you,' she reproached, and he took her hand and squeezed it. 'Sorry, Claire,' he said, and yet he added, 'But I'd rather you hadn't come at all if you had to do it furtively.' 'I'm not doing it furtively!' came the indignant protest before she realized that this was not the truth. 'There's no need for the denials, Claire. I fully understand.' She felt hurt by his manner, but before she had time to speak again Pat came up the path. 'Hello, Claire.' Her eyes lighted up and her lips curved adorably. 'I am pleased to see you again,' she added with genuine sincerity. And then, more shyly, 'I've brought a few cakes for your tea, Mr. Rayner. Mother baked some extra. And she said do you want anything tomorrow. She'll bake for you—for when Mrs. Rayner comes, that is.' While not actually stammering, Pat plainly lacked confidence

when speaking to Ken. A faint smiled touched Claire's mouth at her expression. Ken must be blind! But Ken was too intent on Claire herself, casting her a reproachful glance which clearly said that she should have been the one to think of him like this. The glance hurt, taking the smile from Claire's face. She valued his friendship, but she was beginning to feel that his friendship was lost for ever. 'It's so good of your mother, Pat—and you, too, for taking the trouble to fetch them.' He took the basket from her hand, but did not appear to notice the smile Pat gave him. 'It isn't any trouble, Mr. Rayner,' and then, 'Is there anything else I can do?' Claire saw again Ken's look of reproach. She had said she would polish the surround in the dining- room, if she had time. But of course, she hadn't had time. 'No, Pat, there's nothing,' he said, much to Claire's disappointment. 'As for the baking, though, my aunt loves sponge cakes. I'd be grateful if your mother would make one for her.' 'Mummy will be glad to,' she assured him eagerly. She seemed to become even more unsure of herself, and awkward. 'I'll be going, then,' she said with rather undue haste. 'Good afternoon, Mr. Rayner. Goodbye, Claire.' She turned and ran down the path. 'Don't you want your basket?' Ken called after her and she turned again, flushing as she came back. 'How stupid of me! I forgot all about it.' She waited, rather breathlessly, until Ken went into the house and then returned with the empty basket.

'Would you really like a little job, Pat?' asked Claire, undaunted by Ken's sudden glance of annoyance, 'Oh, yes—anything!' 'I haven't been able to do the polishing in the dining-room. Would you like to do it?—and then put the rugs down?' 'Yes... but aren't you coming again tonight?' 'I can't manage it.' Claire flushed now as she caught Ken's eye. Never before had he looked at her like that. 'Shall I do it?' Pat looked uncertainly at Ken, as if sensing his reluctance to accept her help. He seemed so grim, but his expression changed quite suddenly as he forced a smile. 'Thank you, Pat. It's good of you to offer. I would be most grateful if you would do that job for me.' 'Shall—shall I go in now?' He nodded and she went gaily into the house, humming a little tune which brought back the smile to Claire's face. Ken walked with Claire to the car as usual. 'Goodbye, Claire,' he said on a note of finality. 'Don't be silly, Ken.' Claire swallowed hard. 'Why the goodbye?' 'You won't be coming here again. You've been forbidden to, Claire, so it's no use your denying it. I'm not a fool. You came this time only because you'd promised. I suppose the only times you and I shall see each other will be in church, or at some village bazaar.'

With a sigh Claire got into the car, but she sat there for a moment, making no attempt to switch on the ignition. 'Please try to understand, Ken. I admit Simon doesn't like my coming here, but it's only because people will notice the car, and talk. It's like that in a small village; you'll understand better when you've been here a while.' 'That's just an excuse. He doesn't want our friendship to continue.' 'You're wrong,' she denied quickly. 'He doesn't object to it. He told me to ask you up to the Tower; you will come, won't you?' His face seemed so set and grim, and there was a faintly pleading note in her voice as she added, 'Please say you will.' 'He asked me up to the house?' 'Yes, Ken. I've told you, he doesn't mind our friendship in the least, but he does object to my coming here. People can see the car and naturally they'll talk.' 'Who could see the car? Only the tradespeople come down here.' 'And people going to the cemetery. Mrs. Evans has just passed. She didn't happen to look in, but she might have done—and you've no idea how she talks. Please understand,' she said again. 'Simon isn't being unreasonable when he asks me not to come here. After all, you are alone, and I've stayed sometimes until long after dark.' 'I won't be alone after tomorrow,' Ken reminded her. 'Are you forbidden to visit my aunt too?' 'I haven't been forbidden!' He stared at her broodingly for a space and then,

'Your annoyance proves that you have; in any case, you know my opinion of Mr. Condliffe's character.' He shrugged. 'Well, it's none of my business. Being bullied and tyrannized over is something else women like, I gather; useful to remember if I ever think of getting married.' Claire gave a deep sigh; this, it seemed, was the end of their friendship. She made one more effort, saying gently, 'Don't let us part like this. We've been such good friends. Say you'll come up to the Tower?' 'I'm not coming up to that house. Our friendship is at an end, Claire. I've known it for some time.' She stared at him in amazement. 'I wouldn't have believed you could be as hard as this, would go against your own teaching. This isn't a Christian attitude; I've done nothing wrong.' He reddened, his anger fading. 'Is our friendship so valuable to you?' 'Good friends are always valuable, Ken. And you've been my good friend for a long while. Naturally it means a great deal to me.' 'Forgive me, Claire,' and after a small pause, 'I'll come up to the Tower whenever you ask me to.' She smiled then, satisfied, and let the matter drop, realizing she was already late for Lindy.

'I must go; Lindy will be wondering what's happened.' She pressed the starter, frowned, and pressed it again. After one or two further attempts she said fearfully, 'Ken, it won't start!' 'It sounds to me as if -Let me see.' He put his head through the window. 'You goose, Claire; you're out of petrol!' Her face went pale. 'Are you sure?' He nodded, saying he would fetch his bicycle and get some petrol from the garage in the village. 'Now don't panic,' he said, as her agitation grew. 'I'll be as quick as I can.' 'The—the garage here is closed. An old man runs it alone and he's ill. Whatever shall I do?' She was actually trembling, for if she were too late the headmistress would phone Simon. 'There's only one thing to do, in that case,' Ken told her crisply. 'Ring up Mr. Condliffe and tell him what's happened.' 'I c-can't do that,' she quivered, her heart thumping painfully. 'Simon would be furious.' The idea didn't bear thinking about. 'There must be something we can do.' 'What alternative have you?' and then, with returning bitterness, 'Why did you come in the first place if you're so scared of him?' 'Mr. Saunders!' she said, ignoring that. 'Do you think he would have some petrol?' 'I'll see.' An impatient sigh escaped him, but he went at once to fetch his bicycle. 'I don't know how long I'll be. If he happens to have

some in a can it won't take long, but I expect we'll have to syphon some from the tank.'

Fortunately for Claire the headmistress had decided to go home early, and so did not know Lindy was having such a long" wait. She was sitting rather forlornly on the low wall by the school gate. 'I'm so sorry, darling. Did you think I wasn't coming?' 'No, I knew you'd come.' Lindy sat beside her in the front of the car and before she could ask about the delay Claire began talking about something else, successfully diverting the child's attention from what had happened. But, for once, Claire did keep Lindy away from her uncle. Let a day or two pass, she thought, and Lindy would have forgotten the incident. 'Go in and say good night—but don't stay talking. Uncle Simon is very busy.' 'All right, Claire,' returned Lindy cheerfully. But Claire followed her into the room, holding her breath and praying Lindy would not mention her long wait at the school. To her relief she did as she was told, and after giving her uncle a kiss and a hug, she went happily to bed. The rest of the evening passed pleasantly, as they both worked on his papers and accounts. Claire filled in numerous forms, questioning Simon about anything she did not understand, yet surprising herself by what she could manage alone. Then she answered a couple of business letters, using the typewriter, and merely giving them to Simon to sign. At last it was all finished; with a sigh of satisfaction Simon announced that he was on top of his

paper work for the first time for months. He smiled at her, and thanked her, and she said she had thoroughly enjoyed the work and was sure that after a while she would be able to do much of it without his help. 'You really enjoyed it?' he queried in disbelief. 'Then you can have the job. I hate it!' 'Very well; I'll be your secretary from now on.' -The following afternoon he went over to the Hall; Claire saw him only at dinnertime, for he went back immediately afterwards. When, by eleven o'clock, he hadn't returned, Claire went to bed, feeling unaccountably depressed. Perhaps she was worrying too much about the dinner party on Thursday. Never having entertained like this she quite understandably had qualms, for she felt sure Simon would compare, her efficiency with Ursula's—and find it wanting. Simon was late for breakfast the following morning and Claire and Lindy had to wait for him. Fearing Lindy would mention having had to wait nearly an hour for her on Monday afternoon, Claire repeatedly told her not to do as much chattering as usual because her uncle was tired and overworked just now. All this seemed so very wrong, and Claire wished fervently she could tell Simon what had happened. Her anxiety was a fitting punishment for her deceit, she supposed, glancing up as Simon at last came into the room. To her astonishment he cast her a smouldering glance; she caught her breath, wondering at the reason for it. He couldn't know about her being late for Lindy. Or could he? But that wouldn't make him angry. His temper would flare only when he heard the reason for her being late. But as she continued to watch him, during the meal, Claire became convinced that he knew nothing about the delay in picking up his niece. His anger stemmed from the knowledge that

she had been up to the vicarage on Monday afternoon. But who could have told him? No one knew except Ken and herself. Swallowing hard, she tried to open a conversation, but he responded with one or two almost inaudible monosyllables arid after a while she lapsed into silence. Lindy, too, seemed to be aware of her uncle's anger and scarcely spoke a word. With the nerve-racking meal over at last, Simon told Lindy to take the dog for his walk. His voice was crisp and curt, and although she went cheerfully enough, Lindy did glance at him in some surprise, for it was a long time since he had spoken to her in that particular tone. The door closed and Claire waited, trembling inwardly despite her determination to remain calm. 'You may well hang your head!' he snapped as, unable to meet his furious gaze, she lowered her eyes. 'What explanation have you?' 'Explanation?' 'Don't sit there, pretending you don't know!' he thundered, rising from his chair. 'I told you not to go to the vicarage again, and you were there on Monday afternoon!' 'I'm not a child,' she managed to say. 'I can't think how you've learned of my visit, but you must understand, Simon, that I will not be ordered about. Ken is my friend, and therefore I want to help -' 'Friend! Is that all?' 'How can you say such a thing to me?' She stared at him reproachfully. 'You're so angry you don't know what you're saying.'

'I'm no fool! You've been there till all hours of die night for the past three weeks. Does it take all that time to get the place straight!' He stood there, white with anger. Claire felt she would have been better able to cope were she on her feet. It gave her a feeling of inferiority, being towered over like this, but Simon was too close; she could not possibly rise from her chair. 'I haven't been to Ken's as often as that, nor stayed till all hours of the night,' she retorted indignantly. 'There have been times when I've stayed only an hour—and mostly I've been in by nine, you know I have.' 'You took good care to return early when you knew I'd be in—but it didn't quite work out on Sunday, did it? You thought I'd be at Ursula's till eleven, you said so yourself. You'd cut it fine, though, hadn't you? You were almost running when I came up to you -' 'How dare you talk to me like that!' Claire's cheeks flamed; she pushed back her chair, making him move as she stood up. 'How can you bring that up when you said you believed me—apologized for mistrusting me! I was at Meg's and you can go and ask her if you like. I don't know how you came to know of my visit to the vicarage on Monday, but I'm convinced that Ursula had something to do with it -' Her fists clenched; she spoke wildly, not caring what she said. 'If this is a sample of what our married life is to be—your listening to her tales, finding fault with everything I do— then I want none of it! I'm finished—finished, so you can consider our engagement at an end!' 'Indeed?' He looked down at her with an icy stare. 'I can, can I?' His reversion to the calm and frigid hauteur he had displayed at first only served to infuriate her more. 'I've had enough of your domination. I'm finished. Do you hear!'

'The whole household can hear,' he told her, his own voice maddeningly cool and quiet. 'No, don't do that, Claire, because I shall only put it back. You're becoming far too melodramatic.' But Claire placed her ring on the table, despite his warning. 'As for putting-it back,' she said more calmly, 'you may bully your servants, and your niece, but you're not going to bully me.' His face coloured slowly and he took a threatening step towards her. 'Dare to use that word to me again and you'll discover to your cost what bullying means.! Are you putting that ring back or shall I?' 'You can't force me to marry you,' she quivered in some desperation. 'I won't marry you—I won't!' 'An engagement is a contract,' he reminded her softly. 'You entered into it of your own free will. It's my will that you observe it.' The situation seemed to be getting out of hand; Claire suddenly felt too tired and unhappy to fight any longer. The way he stood there, all cool mastery and giving the impression that no one on earth could set his will at defiance, made her own efforts appear feeble and rather stupid. Her hand fluttered in an involuntary gesture of helplessness and Simon calmly took it, replacing the ring on her finger. And he held her hand for a moment, the angry light fading from his eyes. 'Shall I take Lindy to school?' he asked, in almost gentle tones. 'Would you like to rest?' She shook her head, staring up at him like a hurt child. It was quite illogical, but the change to this gentle manner made her want to cry. 'I can manage. Besides, I have some shopping to do for Tilda.'

'Very well.' He paused. 'Ursula has decided to sell everything, after all. She intends living in France with her aunt.' 'That's sudden; she was talking yesterday about the smaller house she was buying.' Claire looked at him, waiting for some explanation for this change of plan. But Simon remained uncommunicative, his manner forbidding any further questioning and, with a little shrug, she went out to Lindy, who was patiently waiting in the car.

Later, Claire went over to the Hall with a wreath from Tilda and the other servants at Melhurst Tower. Ursula was in tears and in spite of herself Claire's heart ached for her. Having lost her own father, she could feel deeply for Ursula in her sorrow. 'Thank them for me, won't you?' Ursula made an effort to dry her eyes. 'And thank you for yours, Claire. It has just arrived with Simon's.' 'Yes, I'll thank them all,' Claire assured her soothingly. 'You have no idea what it's like, losing your father, and knowing your home's to be sold up.' Ursula looked up through her tears. 'Everything you've lived with and treasured—gone!' Claire said nothing; Ursula could be excused her self-pity, for her suffering appeared to be quite genuine. 'My father,' Ursula said again on a tragic note. 'I have only one relative left in the world now.' And I have none, thought Claire, but she murmured gently, 'I'm sorry, Ursula—so sorry.'

Her words were spoken sincerely, but they seemed to have a strange effect on Ursula. Her eyes became dark with hatred and her teeth snapped together as she stared at Claire in silence for some moments, unconsciously tugging at her handkerchief as though intent on tearing it to shreds. 'Sorry...!' Ursula's voice sounded cracked and harsh. 'Smug, aren't you? But I suppose you can afford to be, seeing that you've won -r" 'Ursula!' Claire interrupted, shocked. 'At a time like this!' 'How virtuous you are—or pretend to be! But you're a hypocrite, and Simon will find you out sooner or later.' Her eyes flickered over Claire, contempt mingled with the hatred in their depths. 'He and I were happy until you came, with your supposed affection for Lindy. He can't see that you've used her for your own ends, used her to worm your way into his affections.' She stopped, the tears falling again, but Claire, herself white to the lips, knew they were tears of anger, knew without any doubt that Ursula suffered scarcely at all from her bereavement. 'I think I'd better go,' she said, turning, but Ursula had not yet finished. 'I wouldn't be alone now if it wasn't for you,' she cried, pale with anger and frustration. 'Simon would be with me, by my side. But you'll pay for it some day. He says he loves you and like a fool you believe him, but I don't. I told him to his face he was lying, that he was marrying you only to provide a mother for Lindy!' She stopped again, seeming to become exhausted by the intensity of her feelings. Claire, still very white, was trembling visibly now. 'He says he loves you....' Dazed, she kept on repeating it to herself. 'He says he loves you....'

Simon had told Ursula that he loved her, Claire. She reflected for a moment on his attitude towards Ken, his anger at her visits to the vicarage. Jealousy! What a fool she had been; everything was so perfectly clear now. And she had resented his interference, fought against his authority ... even returned his ring! 'Will you go, please?' Ursula's voice was quieter now, but the hatred was still in her eyes. 'I must get ready.' This brought Claire's thoughts back to the present. 'Yes—yes, Ursula -' Her voice did not sound like her own; she was still dazed by the news the other girl had so unknowingly imparted, and her legs felt weak as she moved unsteadily to the door. 'Yes, I'll go now...'

CHAPTER XI To Claire's bitter disappointment Simon was out when she arrived back at the Tower. She went in to Tilda to ask where he had gone. 'He went to Keswick,' the old lady informed her. 'He has some business to see to regarding Miss Ursula's estate. I think he had to see the solicitor. How is the poor girl? She must be so brokenhearted. They were so very close—she and her father.' 'She's ... very upset,' Claire informed her. 'She's going away soon after the funeral, to France. I expect Simon told you?' 'He did; and I'm so glad she is. Her aunt seems to think a lot about her—because she has no children of her own, I suppose. I do hope she'll be happy.' 'So do I,' responded Claire, and she meant it. Tilda produced the menu for the following evening and they pored over it, discussing it and making several alterations. According to Tilda there were some very important people among the guests and once again Claire experienced doubts as to her own efficiency. But Tilda was a reliable prop and she seemed to have no qualms at all about the success of the dinner party. Claire had never known a longer day. When Simon eventually returned he had barely enough time to get himself ready for the funeral, and Claire, wondering how she could contain herself until tea-time, went into Lindy's garden and tried to while away some of the time by weeding the flower beds. Then she drove to Ambleside to do some shopping before bringing Lindy from school. When they arrived home Tilda met Claire with the news that Simon had rung through to say he would be staying at the Hall with Ursula, who, although not too well after the funeral, wanted to carry on with

arrangements for the sale. Simon was helping her and could not say what time he would be home. 'Can we have tea in the nursery, then?' Lindy asked, following Claire from the kitchen. 'We used to have it up there when you first came. Do you remember, Claire?' 'Yes, I remember.' It did not seem very long, she mused, since she had come to Melhurst Tower. Her life had been overshadowed by the problem of Lindy and her uncle; she had at one point, she recalled, almost despaired of ever bringing them together. She glanced at Lindy, who was on the rug, her arms about Desmond, her lovely face flushed and happy. And Claire thought for a moment of the things Ursula had said to her this morning; they had hurt at the time, but seemed unimportant now. 'Can we, Claire?' 'Can we what?' Claire looked down at her in an abstracted sort of way, meeting Lindy's wide, perceptive gaze. 'You're in love,' she said. 'Am I indeed?' Claire laughed then and added, 'What has your friend Sally been telling you now?' 'She said her brother looks dreamy—you call it "miles away"—like this -' Lindy's endeavours to appear 'dreamy' brought another chuckle from Claire and Lindy gave her a reproachful glance before bursting into laughter herself. 'You looked miles away, Claire.' 'Well?' 'If you look miles away then you're in love—because that's what Sally says about her brother.' She paused, her brow wrinkling as she

struggled with a problem. 'Uncle Simon doesn't look miles away, though, does he?' 'No, I don't think he does,' Claire agreed. But that didn't mean he wasn't in love, she thought, her heart beginning to do strange things. 'Do you suppose Sally could be wrong?' 'It is possible,' Claire returned. 'You can be in love without looking miles away, as you call it.' Lindy considered this. 'I'll tell Sally tomorrow—about Uncle Simon, I mean,' and she added artlessly, 'She must be wrong, mustn't she?—because Uncle Simon is in love.' Claire nodded in agreement, her lips curving in amusement. 'Yes, Lindy, I'm sure he is.' They had tea in the nursery. Later, Claire read to Lindy for an horn: before putting her to bed. Still Simon had not returned and Claire decided to go over to see Meg and Jim. It was a lovely evening and she decided to take the long way round. There was the nip of autumn in the air and the fellsides were already tinged with russet and gold. The sun, setting behind the rugged crags of Langdale Pikes, spread the lake with crimson and threw into dark relief the tiny tree-filled islands. Wordsworth's country. This scene must have been so familiar to him, Claire mused, as she rounded the promontory and the blue waters of Grasmere met her view. The mountainsides behind the

lake were afire with all the incredible hues of autumn, and the broken outline of Helm Crag took on the aspect of some colossal building long decayed and fallen into ruin. The whole vista was one of vast, majestic splendour, with the mountains rising to the sky and the glistening becks and gills tumbling from the hillsides. No wonder this was the haunt of so many famous poets! Pat and Ken were at the cottage, sitting together on the couch, Pat's eyes glowing and Ken seeming to be strangely happy and content. Pat made to rise, in order to give Claire her seat. 'I'll fetch a chair from the sitting-room,' she said, thanking Pat, but telling her to sit down again. The conversation was naturally concerned with the happenings up at the Hall. The Cornells had been in residence there for more than two hundred years, and. there was much speculation in the village as to its future tenants. 'It's such a big place,' said Jim, filling his pipe with 'twist' which he had been carefully cutting up. 'No one wants these places. You can't get the servants these days.' 'Nor afford to pay them,' put in Ken with a grimace. 'We did think as how Mr. Condliffe would have bought the land,' Meg remarked. 'But it's all going up for sale, along with the house.' 'Well, it's to be hoped we get someone nice.' Jim reached for a wax taper and lighted it from the fire. Then he put it to his pipe, puffing away and making clouds of smoke. 'It's the nearest place to the Tower and those at the two big houses have always been friends. Mr. Corwell and Mr. Condliffe's father were very close friends, right from being young boys at school.'

'Yes, there's always been a tie,' agreed Meg. 'I expect that's why Mr. Condliffe feels he must do so much for Miss Corwell. There's a rumour going around that old Mr. Corwell asked Simon Condliffe to promise he'd do everything for Ursula—when anything happened to the old man, that was.' Claire's eyes flickered. This, then, was the explanation for Simon's being so concerned with helping Ursula. Claire had been puzzled about this, for it seemed strange that Simon should spend so much time up at the Hall, seeing to Ursula's affairs, when he had such difficulty in keeping up with the work of his own estate. Claire now recalled what Meg had said about the gardener up at the Hall overhearing Simon and Mr. Corwell talking. Simon had told Mr. Corwell not to worry about Ursula as he, Simon, would take care of everything. So the gardener had mistaken the whole trend of the conversation, resulting in the rumour of Simon's impending marriage to Ursula! It was quite dark when Claire left Meg's cottage, but Pat and Ken walked with her for most of the way; when they eventually left her she ran the short distance along the lane and up the drive to the Tower, eager for the meeting with Simon. He was not about and she went to find Tilda, intending to sit with her until Simon returned. 'Oh, there you are, Claire. Simon's gone to bed. He came in so exhausted. I think he's working far too hard over there at the Hall. It will be such a relief, I'm sure, when the sale takes place and everything is settled.'

The last of the guests had gone. The dinner party had been a complete success and Claire knew she had pleased her fiance, for, with the light of pride in his eyes, he had whispered in her ear,

'You seem to have made a hit, my dear. Congratulations.' Now, stifling a yawn, he stood looking down into the fire. 'I think we'll call it a day.' His eyes flickered appreciatively over Claire's slender figure. 'I'm for bed. Good night, my dear.' 'Simon,' Claire began urgently as he moved across the room towards the door. 'I mentioned earlier that I had something to tell you -' 'Not tonight, Claire. I'm much too tired.' 'But I've been waiting since yesterday morning,' she persisted. 'I've had no chance since then—not until this evening when you were going up to dress, and I mentioned it. But you couldn't be bothered with me, then.' 'And neither can I be bothered with you now,' he almost snapped, suddenly wide awake. 'Leave it till the morning!' She stared, her mouth trembling at his sudden change of tone. She had tried to talk to him at breakfast time, but he had been so impatient that she had abandoned the idea, putting down his shortness with her to the fact that he was so very tired and overworked. And then he had gone over to the Hall and she hadn't seen him until he was going up to dress for dinner. 'I can't wait till then,' she pleaded. 'I want to tell you now.' It's that I—that I...' She tailed off. The atmosphere was all wrong. This was not the situation in which to say she loved him. 'I know what it is—and I refuse to discuss it. Good night.' She stared again, her bewilderment growing with every word he spoke.

'You ... know?' He nodded curtly. 'And I don't want to hear it.' Claire shook her head dazedly. 'But, Simon——' His smouldering glance cut her short; he turned on her wrathfully. 'You may as well ask for the moon as ask me for your freedom. I meant what I said yesterday morning. I'm having no broken engagement—so you can go to bed and sleep on it!' He stopped and his mouth set in ,a firm determined line. 'And you can order yourself a wedding dress—I'm not waiting till the spring!' He flung open the door. 'Good night,' he said again, and left her standing there. She ran after him into the hall. 'Simon—you're so stupid -' 'I'm glad you realize it. You'll not move me!' He turned his back on her. She followed him up the stairs. This was scarcely the romantic climax she had planned, she thought, chuckling in spite of herself, and Simon turned in some surprise. 'What are you laughing at?' 'You!' He became arrested by her glowing expression and the happiness in her eyes. He said, very gently, 'What is it you want to tell me?'

And all at once she felt too shy to speak, and a smile of sheer amusement came to Simon's lips. 'Can't you say it—after all that perseverance?' He reached for her hand, pulling her up the last stair on to the landing. She pressed close to him and his arms embraced her tenderly. 'I wanted to say that I love you,' she managed to whisper, burying her head in his coat. He lifted her face, with a gentle hand under her chin. 'When did it happen?' 'I think that first day, when you brought Lindy to the riding school,' she owned, the colour tinting her cheeks. 'No, darling, not then?' 'It must have been.' 'Why didn't you tell me before?' She was looking up at him, her lips quivering and slightly parted. He bent his head and kissed her, tenderly, and then repeated his question. 'Because you told me you didn't love me,' she replied. 'Don't you remember saying that?' He frowned at the memory. 'But surely, darling, when I was so jealous of young Rayner -?' 'I didn't know—not then—that it was jealousy.'

'I always imagined a woman instinctively knew those things.' He kissed her again, then held her away from him. 'Why have you told me now?' he asked curiously. Claire hesitated, wondering again how he had come to mention his love to Ursula. 'Because you told Ursula you loved me.' 'And she told you!' he exclaimed after an astounded silence. 'By accident. She thought I knew already. Simon, what made you tell her and not me?' 'By accident, eh?' he repeated grimly, and thought about that for a moment. 'I told her I loved you when she so slyly informed me that you'd been up to the vicarage on Monday afternoon.' 'So it was Ursula!' Her brow creased in some perplexity. 'How did she know?' 'Well, it appeared you didn't bring the car as far up the drive as would have been normal. She became curious to know why you had left it out of sight -' He broke off, frowning, and then continued, 'She told you she was going upstairs for something or other, but instead, she went outside. The curtains were in the car and apparently you mentioned a visit you had to make.' 'Did she tell you all this?' Claire couldn't believe it. 'She had to give me a full explanation, because I told her, rather brutally, I'm afraid, .that I didn't believe her. She then proceeded to provide me with the proof of her statement.' 'How could she think of such things?' Claire gasped incredulously. 'And at such a time!'

He shrugged; if was as if he would prefer to drop the subject, but he did go on to explain, 'Until then I had felt deeply sorry for her, even excusing her talecarrying, because I knew your coming had been a bitter blow to her. You see, we had at one time tentatively discussed the possibility of marriage, because I felt Lindy needed a mother. Ursula said she could never love the child—and I must admit Lindy was a problem at that time. Nevertheless, once Ursula had made that admission the idea of marriage with her was out. But I know that she persisted in convincing herself that we would eventually have married had you not come into my life.' He paused, looking down at Claire with great tenderness and love in his eyes. 'After that final endeavour of hers to cause a rift between you and me I told her the truth—that I loved you and nothing could prevent our marriage.' He frowned slightly. 'I promised her father I would see to her affairs and I shall keep that promise, but no one will be more pleased than I to see her leave for France.' 'Surely she knew you would dislike her for telling you about me—in such an outright way, I mean?' 'She was past caring, Claire,' he replied with conviction. 'She'd known for some time that she fought a losing battle. The very fact of your caution over the visit to Ken would enlighten her as to my attitude about that, and I expect she thought that if I knew you'd gone there we'd have such an unholy, row you would walk out on me.' A shudder passed through Claire at . the idea of Ursula's making that one final effort to part them. She could have succeeded, too, had not Simon been so firm, refusing to take back his ring. 'Simon,,..' She nestled close again, as if in fear, and his arms tightened protectively around her.

'If you knew how I've longed for this moment,' he whispered. 'Claire, my love -' His lips sought hers again; she felt as though a tidal wave had caught her as, after one feeble effort at resistance, she allowed herself to be swept along until his ardour had spent itself. 'I want to tell you about Sunday night. I was nearly crazed with jealousy when I found you down by the vicarage—but I'm not making excuses for that. It's what happened later that I want to explain.' 'When you kissed me?' 'I wanted to find out how you would respond to my kisses—I felt I'd be able to tell if you cared for Rayner. But I meant to be gentle, darling, believe me. The suppressed longing of weeks must have been responsible for my clumsiness. At the time I didn't even realize I was rough with you. I only knew you'd repelled me, and that seemed to be proof that you loved him.' 'And yet you refused to release me -' Claire gazed up at him wonderingly. 'Thinking I loved someone else?' 'I would never have released you, never!' His tones held all the old inflexibility but, after a moment or two he held her to his heart again and said with deep and tender emotion, 'You were mine, Claire, and what I have I hold ... for ever.'