“You see,” I said, “that I must leave immediately.”

They all realized that. Uncle Peter said I should not travel alone. He would have come with me but for important business which he could not possibly fail to attend to. He was going to send Mrs. Eggham to travel with Eggham and me. Eggham was one of the grooms.

“It’s a pity they haven’t done better with the railways,” he said. “It’s about fifteen years since there was all that fuss about a train that went from Stockton to Darlington. Of course we were all sceptical then, and after that we began to expect wonders. And now if you go from London to Birmingham you have to break your journey and take the coach. The carriage will be comfortable and Mrs. Eggham is a pleasant woman. When do you propose to leave?”

“Tomorrow.”

So I said goodbye to them and this time, although Helena expressed her sorrow at my departure she did not beg to come with me.

I set out with the Egghams who were to stay a night or two at Cador and then return to London.

The journey was uneventful and in due course I arrived at Cador. It was always an emotional moment to catch sight of those towers—and perhaps particularly so now that they belonged to me.

It was early evening when we arrived. They had all been expecting me. Isaacs was in the hall with Mrs. Penlock and a number of the servants. Bob Carter was there also.

I was conscious of the suppressed excitement and I knew the cause. They were all aware that something momentous was happening.

“Mr. Tamblin told us you’d be coming,” said Mrs. Penlock. “We wasn’t quite sure which day but your bed is aired and everything’s ready.”

“I had a rather disturbing letter from Mr. Tamblin,” I said, looking from Isaacs to Mrs. Penlock. “Have you any idea what is wrong?”

They shook their heads. “We just know the lawyer wanted to see you, Miss Cadorson,” said Isaacs.

“I thought something was wrong with the house. The roof … or something like that.”

“The roof is in good order,” said Bob Carter. “I’d have seen to that.”

“So’s everything else as far as we do know,” added Mrs. Penlock.

“By the way, Mr. and Mrs. Eggham will want a room. They’ll want to eat, too.”

“We reckoned as you’d have someone with you, Miss Cadorson,” said Isaacs.

“And we’m prepared,” added Mrs. Penlock.

“They will probably stay for two nights.”

“I’ll have something on the table within the hour,” said Mrs. Penlock.

I retired early. Travelling was so exhausting. I decided to go along to the lawyer first thing in the morning.

I rose early, breakfasted and prepared to leave the house. I rode down to the town. I knew the Yorke, Tamblin offices well for they had once been Rolf’s father’s.

Mr. Tamblin was obviously relieved to see me.

“Come into the office, Miss Cadorson,” he said. “How glad I am that you are here. This is a most disturbing matter. Would you care for a glass of Madeira wine … or sherry?”

“No, thank you. I’d rather hear what is wrong.”

“Mind you, nothing is certain, but this woman could prove that she is right and that could mean you would be dispossessed of everything … or almost everything.”

“Please tell me the worst.”

“A woman has arrived here. She is now staying at the Anglers’ Inn. She is laying claim to Cador.”

“Laying claim? What do you mean? How can she do that?”

“Her story is that your father married her mother in Australia in 1814, and that she is his legitimate daughter and therefore heiress to his estates.”

“But that is ridiculous.”

“So I thought. But your father was in Australia at that time and she says she has proof.”

“Proof? What proof?”

“A certificate of marriage.”

“It’s nonsense. My father married my mother …”

“Her story is that he went through a form of marriage with your mother when he came back to England, but of course if as she says, he was already married to her mother, the ceremony he went through with your mother was no true marriage.”

“That is quite impossible. All those years ago! Where has she been until now? Why didn’t she come forward? Why does she wait until he is dead before she does so? What has she been doing all these years?”

“She said she did not know where he was. It was only when she read of him in the papers at the time of his death by drowning in Australia that she understood who he was. She knew nothing of his wealth and title. She says that when he was drowned with the woman who thought she was his wife and his illegitimate son, and she read about it in the Sydney Gazette, there was no doubt in her mind. She knew she was reading about her father because it gave his history, how he went out there for seven years because he had killed a man for attempting to rape a gypsy girl, how when his term was served he had heard of vast estates and a title awaiting him in England. How he had left Australia and returned to England. She was only a child when he went away and never knew him very well, but her deserted mother used to tell her about him. She says that when he came into his fortune he wanted to forget his life in Australia, so he just walked out and went to England … and there he married. But she insists that marriage was no true one.”

“She read of it in the papers. Do you think …?”

“I understand what you mean, Miss Cadorson. She read of what had happened and thought she would perpetrate this fraud. Your father had been in Australia; he had returned to England. She knew that. She had the facts. That’s what you mean. But her story is just possible.”

“I don’t believe a word of it.”

“I do not want to. But she says there is a certificate of marriage, which states clearly that there was a marriage with Jake Cadorson. It is an unusual name and this allegedly took place while your father was there.”

“Is this a real marriage certificate?”

“We shall have it examined of course. But I find this very disturbing.”

“What sort of woman is she?”

“Young. A little older than yourself. That fits of course. Her story undoubtedly has a certain plausibility.”

“And just suppose it is decided that she is telling the truth?”

“I am afraid she could claim the estate.”

“You mean … Cador would be hers.”

He looked grim. “There might be some arrangement.”

“What sort of arrangement?”

“As you have lived at Cador as your father’s legitimate daughter for the whole of your life to date, we might be able to preserve something. I cannot say. It will be a matter for the judiciary. I thought of calling in advice. You might decide to contest the case.”

“I cannot believe that my father would marry a woman and then desert her just because he had inherited his family home.”

“It is hard to believe. But people do the strangest things. He was out there. He had been a prisoner. He had lived a hard life. He may have, at some time, thought he would continue to live out there. He did acquire land and was working on it when the news came to him. It might have been that he did not think his wife—if that was what she was—would fit into the ancestral home or to life in England. It may be that he wanted to cut off all ties with the country of his captivity.”

“He would not have left her. He would not have come back and married my mother.”

Mr. Tamblin sighed. “What we shall have to consider is whether this certificate is true or false. I am of the opinion that a great deal will hang on that.”

“Where is it?”

“She guards it carefully. She knows that her case rests on it. When the time comes she will let it go but not, I fear, to me, for she knows I act for you.”

“What sort of woman is she?”

Mr. Tamblin paused. “She … er … is not the sort of person I should expect to be your father’s daughter.”

“What must we do?”

“I want to get a verdict on the marriage certificate.”

“Does anyone know about this?”

“I confess to telling Mr. Hanson. He has some knowledge of the law. Occasionally we exchange views and have done ever since I took over the practice. Very often business concerns the people here, and he knows them quite well. It helps when dealing with people to know something about them personally.”

“He did write to me.”

“Yes, he said he would.”

“But he did not give me any idea of the nature of the trouble.”

“No. He would be discreet.”

“So we must wait now for a verdict on the certificate?”

He nodded. “She is bringing it tomorrow. Her lawyer will be with her. Perhaps you would care to be here then. And would you object if I invited Mr. Hanson to come along, too?”

I said weakly: “No. I should not object.”

“This has been a great shock to you, Miss Cadorson, and coming so soon after the tragedy … but what happened would never have arisen but for that. Oh dear, this is most distressing.”

I said: “I will go now, Mr. Tamblin. I will see you in the morning.”

I came out of the office and mounted my horse. I rode out of the town and up the hill to Cador.

Then I turned away. I could not bear to look at it just now. I had been so proud of it always. My home … and now my very own. But for how long?

Could the story possibly be true? No. My father would never have deserted that woman. He would never have married my mother under false pretences. It was not his way. She was lying. It was clear to me what had happened. There had been full coverage of the story in the Sydney Gazette. She would have read about his coming to Australia to serve his prison term, his acquiring a little land which he was working when news of his inheritance came to him. She would have read all that. It was a romantic story of the kind beloved by newsmen. And how simple for her to fabricate the story. The marriage, the flight of the man who vanished from Australia for years during which he lived his grand life in England where he had married, settled down and had a family. I could see how the idea would come to an unscrupulous schemer, and because of the great distance between Australia and England, it might be possible to make it work.

I wondered what was happening to my life. I had suffered the terrible shock of losing my family and that had been so sudden. They had left me in the best of health that morning and I had never seen them again. I had lost Rolf—due to my own uncertainty; and now, I was in danger of losing my home. It seemed as though fate was preparing to rob me of everything I held dear.

I could not believe that this was really happening. It could not be possible that my mother had not been married to my father all those years and that I was his illegitimate daughter, Jacco his illegitimate son. It was like a bad dream.

And yet Mr. Tamblin thought the story was not impossible.

I had ridden some miles without thinking where I was going. I had come to Croft Cottage, and it was almost as though I had been led there, for it was of sudden interest to me. It was a pleasant little house, just outside the estate, and my mother had bought it ten years ago. One of the maids was going to have a baby, I remembered, and the father was a farm labourer. A quick marriage was necessary and my mother had bought the cottage for them to live in. It was, therefore, my mother’s property, and presumably did not belong to the estate. What a strange thought! If this woman’s story was proved to be true this cottage could be the only home I had in Cornwall.

I rode round the cottage. It was empty because the family had gone up to the north of England just before we left for Australia. The husband’s cousin had offered him a share in his farm as far as I remembered, and no one else had taken up residence in the cottage.

This was absurd. Of course the woman would be proved a fraud.

I slowly made my way back to Cador.

I summoned Isaacs and Mrs. Penlock to the drawing room. They came, their faces expectant. They knew something momentous had happened.

I came to the point at once.

I said: “A woman is now in the neighbourhood who says she is my father’s daughter and that he married her mother before he married mine. She claims that Cador is hers.”

Even Mrs. Penlock was struck dumb.

“She will have to prove her story, of course,” I went on, “and if she succeeds there would be great differences here. The place would not belong to me but to her.”

Isaacs had gone quite white. He looked very shocked.

Mrs. Penlock stammered: “Oh … the wicked woman to say such things. It be a pack of lies, that’s what it be.”