It was the end of May and my birthday was at the beginning of September, a few months away.

My mother had said: “Now that the old King is dead and we have a young Queen on the throne we shall have to think about your coming out.”

“That is going to entail a lot of preparations, I’ll swear,” said my father.

“Amaryllis did it for Helena, so I suppose I can manage.”

“It will mean a stay in London,” said my father. “By the way, I want to go up shortly. Did I tell you I had had another letter from Gregory Donnelly?”

“Oh, what’s going on out there?”

Gregory Donnelly was the man who was looking after my father’s property in Australia. I had heard his name mentioned from time to time.

“He wants to buy the property,” said my father. “It might be a good idea to sell. It really seems quite absurd to keep it. It’s just a sentimental notion. I want to say, I went out as a slave and now I’m the owner of property there.”

“Why not let him have it if he wants to buy?”

“I’m thinking of it seriously. But I think I ought to go out just to have a look at it.”

My mother looked alarmed.

“You’d come, of course.”

“Of course,” she repeated.

“I should come too,” I added.

“Certainly you shall come. Jacco too. We’ll all go.”

“I wonder,” I said impulsively, “if we shall find Digory.”

There was silence, almost as though they were trying to remember who Digory was.

Then my father said: “My dear girl, it would be like looking for the needle in the haystack. People come in from miles away looking for convict labour. He could be on the other side of Australia … Victoria, Western Australia, even Queensland. It’s a big place, you know.”

“Poor boy,” said my mother. “I am afraid he would have had a hard time of it.”

“No doubt he has settled in by now,” added my father. “One does after a time. We’ll think about this trip really seriously, shall we?”

“You have talked about going so often,” I reminded him, and I really did not think anything would come of it.

When the Hansons came we discussed the proposed trip with them. They were very interested.

“If the land is profitable,” said Rolf, “it seems a shame to sell it.”

“It is too far away to handle,” replied my father. “This estate is enough for me.”

The Hansons talked a great deal about their own estate, which had been growing larger over the years. They were constantly buying land. My relationship with Rolf had changed once more. When he came to Cador I guessed it was to see me. He explained his interest in Dorey Manor far more to me than he did to anyone else. He had given up all thought of the law. He wanted to be a landowner on a large estate as my father was. That was what appealed to him and he grew lyrical talking of the land.

As for myself I thought about him a good deal. He still had a very special effect on me. I was, in a way, in love with him as I had been when I was a child. He was very interested in me, too, and my parents watched us with a certain smug expression which I believed meant that they thought we would marry one day.

Should we? I felt very uncertain about my feelings for him. Physically the prospect filled me with delight while in my mind memories of that night would intrude and torment me. I was certainly excited by him; I loved to be near him; I fought against those memories and tried hard to assure myself that there had been some mistake; but always there would be that shadowy third, that figure in the grey robe who could not be made to disappear.

Once when I was riding with him I led the way into the woods past the burnt-out cottage. I longed for him to talk of that night and the part he had played in it. But I could not bring myself to mention it. I had a fear that he would say, “Yes, I was there. I was the one who led the mob to what they did. I wanted to know how they would react in such a situation and whether they would be as their ancestors had been before them.” And I felt that once he had admitted that, all would be over between us. And, illogically, although I longed to hear, that was the last thing I wanted to know. I obviously preferred to go on in uncertainty rather than be faced with the truth, which would finish my relationship with him forever.

I was very young and inexperienced of life. Days were so dull when he did not come. I wished I was older, more capable of knowing myself, more able to understand my feelings. I should be able to face this, to ask him what really happened and to accept the truth—whatever it might be. But I was not.

“When does the proposed visit to Australia take place?” he asked my father.

“Oh, it needs a certain amount of planning. Besides, I’m not sure about it. I want to turn a few things over in my mind first.”

I said to my mother afterwards: “I believe this is going to be like all those other trips we were to make. Papa is too fond of Cador to want to leave it for long.”

She was inclined to agree. “I shall try to persuade him to sell that property to Gregory Donnelly and cut off all ties with Australia,” she said.

“I somehow don’t think he wants to do that. It must have been a very significant part of his life and he wants to keep a stake in it.”

“I’m not sure that all this hoarding of memories is good. Anyway we shall be going to London and Eversleigh soon. I want to see Amaryllis and you’ll enjoy being with Helena. She will give you all the dos and don’ts about coming out.”

“Shall I have to do all that?”

“It seems necessary for a young lady to be launched. You’ll have a season of course … parties and balls and that sort of thing.”

I grimaced.

“Oh come, Annora, you’ll enjoy it. You’ve got to see the world. You can’t be shut away in Cornwall forever. One day you’ll marry. It’s a good idea to meet people first.”

“It seems a bit crude. Helena thought so … being paraded to show your charms like cattle at a show … and if you don’t come up to standard it must be awful.”

“Poor Helena,” said my mother. “She’s a nice girl. I sometimes think men are quite stupid. They pass over the girls who would make the best wives.”

“I’m glad Uncle Peter isn’t my father. He’s too ambitious … for himself and for his children.”

My mother’s mouth hardened in the accustomed way when he was mentioned and I wished I had not brought him into the conversation.

“Yes,” she said. “You’re lucky. I always thought my father was the best in the world, but you are as lucky in that respect as I was.”

I flung my arms around her. “I know. That’s why I’m so sorry for Helena … though I don’t think he has actually said anything. It is just that he is there and everything he does goes right. Papa is wonderful and everything he does is right, but he doesn’t make you feel … degraded … if you are not so good yourself.”

“He wants you to be happy … above everything … and so do I.”

“I know.”

“Do you like Rolf?” she went on.

“Why do you ask?”

“I just wondered. I don’t think he’s indifferent to you.”

I felt flustered. I stammered. “Yes … I like him all right.”

“Just that?”

“Oh … I like him … very much, I suppose.”

She smiled. “Your father and I like him very much.”

I did not answer and she changed the subject.

At the beginning of June we left Cador. Jacco was to join us later, so my father, my mother and I travelled alone. We were to spend a few days in London before going to Eversleigh. We went to the family house in Albemarle Street and the very next day Amaryllis and Helena came to see us.

They invited us to dine that evening—an invitation which we were delighted to accept.

I thought Helena looked happier than I had seen her for a long time, and I wondered what had happened.

While her mother was talking to my parents she and I slipped up to my room and she was all eagerness to tell me.

“What’s happened?” I demanded as soon as we were alone.

“I … I’ve met someone.”

“Oh?”

“He’s so charming, Annora. I have never met anyone who is so nice and so kind. That’s what I like about him. He’s not like any other young man. He’s gentle … and I think he doesn’t like the social round any more than I do.”

“Who is he?”

“Well, the funny thing about it is that he is really quite important … or at least his family is. He is young … younger than I am actually, two years younger, Annora … but he is so nice …”

“I know. You said that before. Do tell me more about this nice young man.”

“He’s John Milward. Lord John Milward. You’ve heard of the Milwards?”

“I confess to ignorance.”

“A very important family … Dukes of Cardingham. Only John is a younger son, thank goodness. That he should notice me is quite amazing. We met at a dance. I was hiding behind some of the plants trying to pretend I wasn’t there … and he came upon me and we talked a bit and discovered that we were both doing the same thing … trying to look as though we were not there. It was the first time I’d ever enjoyed one of those occasions. It was funny because he said it was the same with him.”

“And you’ve seen him again?”

“Oh yes. I’ve seen him at other places and when we’re somewhere together, we always find each other.”

“That’s wonderful. And what does your father say?”

“He doesn’t know. Nobody knows yet.”

“I expect they’ve noticed you. From what I’ve heard those mamas with marriageable daughters have eyes like hawks.”

“I do hope they haven’t because I don’t suppose anything will become of it.”

“Why shouldn’t it?”

“He’s very young.”

“Your father wouldn’t object.”

“Oh no. He’d be delighted. The Milwards are one of the oldest families in the country.”

“You think they would?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, our family is not to be sneezed at.”

“Father is a merchant. Of course the Milwards are notoriously impoverished and I believe my father is very rich.”

“Let not Society to the marriage of wealth and breeding admit impediment.”

“Oh, Annora, it has made such a difference.”

“I can see it has. I do hope all goes well. Won’t it be wonderful? I shall look forward to visiting the country seat. You’ll be Lady John Milward. Fancy that!”

“I’m so glad he is only a younger son.”

“I think it is wonderful, Helena.”

We joined the others.

I did not mention, even to my mother, what Helena had told me for she had been insistent that it should remain a secret. I just hoped fervently that all would go well with her. She seemed like a different person when she did not seem to be apologising all the time for her inadequacies.

It was rather a splendid dinner party that evening, though it was only a family affair. A great deal of entertaining was done in the house in the square and it seemed impossible for a dinner party to take place in that splendid dining room without a certain amount of ceremony. Aunt Amaryllis said we were lucky because Peter was able to join us; and it was probably his presence which added dignity to the occasion.

“Very often his work takes him away,” Aunt Amaryllis explained. “There is always some important committee, particularly now he is concerned with parliamentary affairs.”

She spoke of him in almost reverent tones. I thought it must be rather uncomfortable to live with such a man. I knew it was for Helena and Peterkin but Aunt Amaryllis was like an acolyte serving in the master’s temple.

Uncle Peter told us how glad he was to see us in town.

“We’re spying out the land,” my father told him. “We shall have to be thinking about Annora’s coming out.”

“It is a little late, I suppose,” said my mother. “She’ll be past eighteen.”

“There have been delays all round because of what has been happening,” replied Aunt Amaryllis. “The Court has been in disarray. The King’s been ill for so long and poor Queen Adelaide too. Now we have a new young queen on the throne, things will change, I have no doubt.”

“Have you seen her?” I asked eagerly.

“We were at the Guildhall dinner in November,” said Uncle Peter.

“What is she like?”

“Delightful,” said Aunt Amaryllis. She turned to Helena and Peterkin. “You’ve seen her, haven’t you, riding in her carriage?”

“She looks very young and very sure of herself,” said Helena.

“I suppose she would have to be sure of herself,” added Peterkin.