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

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

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

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

But life had to be accepted for what it was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jessica!” I cried.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So the tale goes.”

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

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

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

The room was supposed to be sealed off then.”

“It almost is … now.”

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

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

“Murdered her! That’s not the story.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jessica!” I said. “What’s wrong?”

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

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

She looked bewildered.

“You fainted,” I said.

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

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

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

“Shall I call someone?”

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

“Do you often faint?”

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

“Let me take you back to your room.”

Thank you.”

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

“If you wish.”

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

“It’s along here.”

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

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

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

“You think she looks like a murderess?”

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

“I don’t believe it,” I said.

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

“It makes a better story,” she murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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