“In politics or in life for that matter, everything can change in a week. I knew as soon as it happened that I was sunk.”

“You will fight again?”

“I expect so. But it takes a long time for them to forget.”

“By the next election perhaps?”

“Then there will be someone to bring it up … refurbish it … dress it up as new, I daresay. It will cling, Angelet. I wish I could have done something. It was my fault. I just ignored her. I should have explained. It is too late now.”

“Time will pass and it will be better.”

“I keep thinking that all the time. Then we can start again … you and I.”

“I couldn’t talk about that now, Ben.”

“Perhaps not … but later.”

Grace came over to us.

“I hope I am not interrupting,” she said brightly.

“Oh no,” I told her.

“You seemed in deep conversation.”

“No … we were just talking … idly …”

I looked up and saw Justin. He was looking at us very intently. I smiled and he came over; and the conversation turned to generalities.

The next morning to my surprise Justin called. He was carrying a small parcel.

I wondered why he had come so early in the morning. We were in the sitting room—just the two of us.

He said: “I wanted to see you rather specially, Angelet.”

“Yes, Justin, is something wrong?”

“No … not just now.”

“You mean something might be? Morwenna?”

“No, not Morwenna. She doesn’t know I’ve come.”

“You are being very mysterious, Justin.”

“I don’t know how to say this or where to begin. It’s just a hunch I have. It’s just something I feel you ought to know. I never thought to tell you … or anyone … but since Gervaise did what he did for me … at such a time when we were not even friends … I have felt I owed you something. I’ve wanted to look after you for his sake. I’m not a very admirable character, as you know, but I really think that changed me. It’s because of that …”

“Justin, this is getting more and more mysterious. Why don’t you say it outright?”

“I will. But first I want you to read this. Then … when you’ve read it, I’ll talk to you.”

He put the package into my hands. “What is it?” I asked.

“It’s a diary. I’ve had it for some time. Read it … and when you have read it, we must meet again and I will tell you what I am afraid of. You wouldn’t believe me … until you read that and then I think you would understand a good deal.”

“A diary? Whose?”

“Angelet, I must ask you not to show it to anyone. Will you promise?”

“Of course, but …”

“Take it to your room. Wait till tonight. Read it when you are quite alone. That is very important,”

“I am very puzzled, Justin.”

“I know. But just do as I say. Take it straight to your room. Lock it away and when you retire tonight and can be sure of being quite alone, read it … and when you have read it I will come and see you and tell you why I am behaving in such an extraordinary way.”

“Why can’t I look at it now?”

“Someone might come in. You would be interrupted. Please, do as I say. Promise me, Angelet.”

“All right. I’ll promise.”

“Thank you. I’ll go now. I’ll come tomorrow and we’ll talk.”

Then he left.

I looked at the parcel and was greatly tempted to open it, but having given my promise I took it to my room and locked it in a drawer.

Really Justin was behaving in a very odd manner.

I retired early that night and as soon as I was alone I unlocked the drawer and took out the package. Stripping off the paper I found a diary. I glanced at the dates at the top of each entry and the small neat handwriting.

I undressed, got into bed, and began to read.

On the flyleaf was an inscription: “For Mina with love from Mother.”

Mina presumably was the owner of the diary.


January 1st: I found this diary when I was getting ready to leave, and I remembered that last Christmas Mother had given it to me. She had said: “Write in it, Mina.” Then you can look back on your life at this time in years to come and it will seem as though it is happening to you now.” I thought I would, but I didn’t. And now she is dead and I have to leave here and start a new life. I think it might be interesting. What to write about is difficult to know. So much will be just not worth recording. I shall see how it goes. This is my first entry and it seems I am telling myself things I already know. I don’t suppose I shall continue. I am just starting because it is all new and I am leaving here and have to earn my own living. Mother never wanted that, but the little she was able to leave is not really enough to live on. I don’t want to scrimp and scrape all my life. Besides, what would ever happen to me here? I had to take this job with the Bonners, for the only thing a woman can do when she has to earn a living and she is in my position, is to be a governess. I shall look upon it as an adventure and if it is intolerable I shall not be completely penniless. I can look for something else. So this is a start.


The next entry was a week later.


January 8th: Something worth writing. Here I am installed in Crompton Hall, Crompton, near Bodmin, Cornwall … a rather eerie sort of place and the Bonners are rather impossible. But they amuse us … Mervyn and me. I suppose I ought to record our meeting. I thought it was a coincidence at first that we should meet on the way to the Bonners’ but as we were traveling on the same day it was quite natural that we should meet, because the little branch railway line is not used by many people. It is more like a toy railway than a real one—though it is the pride of the local inhabitants’ lives. It was snowing when I boarded the little train. There were only three other passengers. It was late because the main line train had been delayed. The little train was waiting for its arrival, I was told. Two of the passengers were a middle-aged couple; Mervyn was the other. I liked him from the moment I saw him. He helped me with my bags and soon we were facing each other in the carriage. I remember the conversation:

“What a day for a journey!”

“It is winter.”

“Still, it could have been better than this. Are you going to Crompton?”

“Yes, are you?”

“Yes. I was wondering if I should be met.”

“You are staying there, are you?”

“I’m going as governess … to Crompton Hall.”

He started to laugh. He had beautiful white teeth.

“I’m going to Crompton Hall … as tutor.”

We stared at each other in disbelief.

I thought: Now this is something to put into the diary.

That journey was quite exciting. It was long because there were so many delays on the line. I didn’t mind in the least. I wanted it to go on and on. He told me about himself. He was alone in the world—no parents. They had spent all they had on educating him and now here he was forced to earn a living and fully equipped to take the post of tutor to “a young gentleman in the country”—“as he was described to me,” he said.

I told him I had nursed my widowed mother for years—I being the only child. She had had an annuity which had made living comfortable enough, but when she had died there was little else. Like him, I had received a good education so I was equipped to be a governess to “a young lady in the country.”

By the time we had arrived at Crompton we were good friends and much of the apprehension I had been feeling was gone as we mounted the dogcart sent by our obliging employers; and we were conducted to Crompton Hall.


The next entry was:


February 3rd: Mother would scold me if she knew I had neglected my diary. She herself had been a great diarist, but when I looked over it after her death all it contained were things like: “Not so well today,” or “Poured with rain all morning.” I thought that such details were not really worth recording. In this book I shall write only what I feel to be significant in my life. And I feel it is beginning to be fraught with significance.

It is all due to Mervyn. How lucky I am that we should be here together. Even during our meeting on the train I felt this and so did he, I believe. We could laugh together over our employers. The Bonners were not Cornish. They had settled here only about five years before, and they were regarded as foreigners in the community, although they did not seem aware of it.

They think they are the lords of the manor. They don’t seem to understand that to be regarded as such they would have had to live here for at least a hundred years. The servants despise them; so do the villagers. The Bonners are not gentry and there are no snobs like their kind. They are accepted by the doctor and the solicitor, the neighboring squires and of course the vicar: “dear bumbling old Rev,” as Mervyn calls him. “He is the good shepherd and we are all his sheep, old and young, poor and nouveau riche.” We have a lot of fun laughing at them all. The children are nonentities. They have to remember that they are a lady and a gentleman now with a tutor for Master Paul and a governess for Miss Jennifer. “How many families run to that!” as my employer would say. “Most of them would have only one for the two, but brass is meant to be spent to get the best for the family.” That is Squire Bonner’s policy; and it suits me very well for it brings Mervyn and me close together.

Mervyn has convinced the Bonners that the children should ride. It is part of their education. He is wonderful on a horse. I never rode much. I didn’t have the opportunity. He is determined to teach me. He takes me out with the children, of course, and as Master Paul and Miss Jennifer enjoy that, Bonner mère and père think it is a good thing. They are fast climbing up the social ladder and the saddle is yet another step.

The reason I am writing today is because silly little Gwennie Talbot said to me: “I think the tutor be sweet on ’ee, Miss.”

I blushed which made her titter and I pretended to be annoyed. I said: “Don’t be impertinent, Gwennie.” But I was pleased. People are noticing. So that seemed worthy of an entry in my diary.

March 1st: I really am no diarist. It is only rarely that the urge comes over me to write. I suppose life has been going on in the same way all these weeks. But I have never been so happy and it is wonderful and all due to Mervyn. Each day I get up with a feeling of exhilaration. It is love, I suppose, and what is so exciting is that we are both under the same roof.

We are sometimes invited to dine at the Bonner table—the reason being that they are short of guests and we are educated—far better than our employers, I am glad to say—and we are of use to make up the numbers. This amuses us. Mervyn always has a great deal to say about the people who visit us. He is observant of human nature and can be so amusing in a wicked sort of way. I tell him he is very cruel.

A few evenings ago the vicar came and brought with him some connection of his family—not a nephew—farther away than that … a sort of second cousin, I imagine. The young man, it seemed, was a ne’er-do-well. He was rather good-looking … quite handsome in fact. His name is Justin Cartwright.


When I read that I started. It was like a physical blow.

Justin! Then something else struck me. What was the name of the man we had thrown into the pool? Mervyn Duncarry. Mervyn was not a very common name. I had been wondering why Justin had thought it necessary for me to read the diary of a strange young woman named Mina. This was now taking on some significance.

I returned to the book.


He is staying with the vicar. I think he may have been in some sort of trouble. I quite like him. So does Mervyn.

March 6th: The greatest day of my life. Mervyn told me he loved me. We shall get married one day. But it is not easy for a tutor and a governess. But still … all that is to be considered later. We shall have to make plans. I am quite blissful and can think of nothing else.

March 30th: Today we rode into Bodmin. We made the excuse that we had to get some books for the children’s lessons and they were left in the charge of servants so we had the day to ourselves.

I have never been so happy before. I laughed when I remembered how apprehensive I had been about coming to this place and when I think of the happiness it has brought me, from the moment I stepped into that little branch line train, I cannot believe my good fortune.