I was on one side of my stepmother, Freddy on the other, holding her hand. She leaned on me a little, now and then putting her hand to her eyes.

A little group of the village people gathered to watch us leave. I heard one of them say: "Poor soul. She was so happy with him. It did you good to see them together. And now he's gone ... gone forever."

My stepmother heard and seemed to be grappling with her emotion.

The service in the church had been brief and I was thankful for that. We walked out of the church following the pallbearers. I listened to the clods of earth falling on the coffin. My stepmother threw down a bunch of asters. She gripped my hand and pressed it.

Then I lifted my eyes. Standing a little apart from the group round the grave was Desmond Featherstone.

My heart started to beat faster. I felt a sudden fear. His eyes were fixed on my stepmother.

As we turned away from the grave, he joined us.

"My dear, dear ladies," he said. "I heard of this sad happening. I have come to offer my condolences... to you both."

I said nothing. Nor did my stepmother.

She had quickened her pace and I fancied she wanted him to fall behind.

He did not and when we reached the carriage which would take us back to the house he was still beside us. He helped us in and stood back, his expression solemn; but I noticed the glitter in his eyes as he bowed to us.

This dismal day is over and I cannot forget the sight of Desmond Featherstone standing there near the grave. For some reason, even now, the memory sends shivers down my spine.

November 1st How everything has changed. I knew it would but not to this extent. I think I should be very much afraid if it were not for Magnus.

Magnus is my lifeline. He restores my spirits. He makes me happy, he makes me forget my fears. I go to him every day. We make plans. It won't be long now before we are married, he says. Then we shall go away together.

I sometimes have a strange feeling that forces are at work to destroy my happiness with Magnus and that something else... something terrible ... is being planned for me.

When my father's will was read I discovered that he had been a comparatively wealthy man. The map-making business in itself was a flourishing concern. That could be run satisfactorily by Masters and his men. It was to remain in the family and would belong to me. I need have nothing to do with it, but my father did wish that it should continue. In the event of my marrying or wishing to be rid of it, it would go to that distant cousin John Mallory, to whom the house would also go on my death.

It was all very complicated. My stepmother had a very adequate income but the bulk of the wealth was in the business and the house and the land—and that was mine.

The clause which I found most hard to bear was my father's passing over my guardianship to my stepmother. He had stated in his will that he trusted his wife's judgement utterly so he was placing the care of his daughter in her hands until that daughter was twenty-one years of age or in the event of her marriage. He believed that was the best thing he could possibly do in the circumstances. His daughter had been without a mother's guidance until his second marriage. He therefore left her in the charge of one in whom he had complete trust—his dear wife, Lois.

I thought: He certainly was besotted about tier—from the moment he set eyes on her to the end.

I was really annoyed by that injunction, but I did not think at first that it would make any difference to me.

Now things are starting to happen. It no longer seems like my home. There is something sinister about it... And I know what it is.

It was about three or four weeks after the funeral when Desmond Featherstone reappeared.

I was in the garden with Freddy when he walked in.

When I looked up and saw him my heart gave that little leap of apprehension which it always does at the sight of him.

"Hello," he said. "I have come to visit the bereaved."

"Oh. My stepmother is in. I will tell her you have called to see her."

"I have called to see you too, Miss Ann Alice."

"Thank you," I said. "But I am sure my stepmother will want to know that you have called."

I turned away and he caught my arm. "You are not still determined to be unfriendly, are you?"

I said: "Oh, Freddy, let us go and tell Aunt Lois that she has a visitor, shall we?"

Freddy was very quick and he had developed a rather touching way of looking after me. He must have sensed the appeal in my voice.

"Oh yes, come on."

He took my hand and pulled me away. We left Desmond Featherstone looking after us rather disconsolately.

That was the beginning.

He stayed to luncheon and then to dinner.

Then he said it was too late to leave that night.

And there he was. He stayed with us the next day and he is still with us.

I am not sure what my stepmother feels about his being in the house. Sometimes I think she wishes he would go. I wonder why she does not ask him to.

But what frightens me is his attitude to me. He has come here to pursue me.

If I am alone in a room it will not be long before he is there too.

Being in the house he can follow my movements. If I go out to ride he will be there beside me. I take Freddy with me a great deal. He acts as a miniature chaperon. He is very good at it and I believe has some inkling that he is there to protect me.

I often go to the Shop to see Magnus. Sometimes we ride out together to eat the picnic lunch which I have brought. Once Desmond Featherstone had the temerity to join us.

He has brought a new atmosphere into the house ... an uneasiness ... more than that... a kind of terror... for me. The truth is that I am afraid of him. Yes, I am really frightened of Desmond Featherstone.


November 6th

I have an urge to write more in my journal now. I feel it is like a friend in whom I can confide. I still have this uneasy feeling that I cannot trust my stepmother, although she is gentle with me and so pathetic in her grief. I often wonder why she does not tell Desmond Featherstone to go, for I have a feeling that she does not want him here any more than I do. Yesterday I saw them together. I looked from my window and they were in the garden. She had a basket on her arm and was rather listlessly picking the last of the chrysanthemums. He was talking to her and she was replying with some vehemence. I wish I could have heard what they were saying.

Magnus has given me the copy of the map. I keep it at the back of my drawer with my journal. I wish I had a safe of some sort, a box I could lock, somewhere to keep my secret things. But perhaps the back of the drawer is the safest place. People wouldn't think of rummaging through my gloves and scarves, whereas if I locked things away they might think I had something to hide. This obsession with security has only come after my father's death.

I often take out the map and look at it. I dream of sailing in that sea, among those islands. How I should like to visit the Sandwich Islands, Tahiti... and those new discoveries.

Magnus and I will one day find our island. I shall look back on these days and laugh at myself. I am imagining things, building up something which is not there. I am endowing Desmond Featherstone with sinister intentions ... just as I did long ago, my stepmother.

Desmond Featherstone went away for a few days and what a relief that was! I really am building up a case against that man. What has he done but forced himself upon us and made himself especially odious to me? But on the other hand he could not have stayed on at the house if my stepmother had not allowed him to. She could tell

him to go, if she wanted to, and I would second her in that. Sometimes I fancy that she does want to. But then why doesn't she?

Of course he was soon back and is with us again.

He is there at meals. He appreciates the food that is served and particularly the wine from our cellars. I have seen him stretch his legs and look around the room with satisfaction, with an almost proprietorial air. It irritates me. Why does my stepmother not tell him to go?

Today I have been with Magnus, and although I have not mentioned this before, today I blurted it out.

I said: "I hate that man. He frightens me. He moves so silently. You are in a room ... you look up ... and find he is watching you there. Oh, Magnus, the house isn't the same."

Magnus said: "It wouldn't be ... after your father's death. You were fond of him... and it is not as though you have your own mother."

"My brother is lost," I replied. "My father is dead. You see, in a way I am alone."

"How can you evert>e alone while I am here," he answered.

"It's wonderful that you are. That makes me very happy. I just have this horrible feeling that something might happen ... before ... before I can be with you."

"What could happen?"

"I don't know. Just something ... It seems so long to wait."

"Next April," he said, "we'll go to my home. We'll be there for a while and make our plans. We're going to explore together, be together for the rest of our lives."

"And find your island."

"What did you think of the map?"

"It doesn't tell me much. It is just those blue seas and the island ... and the mainland and the other islands. I wish I could see pictures of the island."

He laughed at me. "We're going to find it."

"We shan't live there?"

"Oh no, I don't think we could do that. We'll visit them. We'll catch that contentment. Perhaps we'll help them market their gold."

"Wouldn't that change them? I thought their happiness came from simplicity and the idea of their going without their gold cooking pots so that they can sell to rich merchants somehow spoils the illusion."

"We'll go and discover together what we shall do. As long as we are together, I shall be happy."

"I wish it were next April."

"Perhaps we could make it earlier?"

"Oh ... could we?"

"Ann Alice, you are not really frightened, are you?"

"N ... no. I suppose not really. I expect I'm just so eager to start our new life together."

We laughed; we kissed; we embraced; and the times we spend together are always to me absolute happiness.

While I was writing that I heard footsteps on the stairs. I listened. There was a gentle tap on my door. I hastily thrust my journal into a drawer.

It was my stepmother.

"I knew you wouldn't be in bed yet," she said.

"You look pale," I told her. "Are you not feeling well?"

Even as I spoke I wondered whether she deliberately looked unwell. I knew there were mysterious-looking pots full of lotions and creams with which she treated her skin, and it occurred to me that she might be able to look pale or robust according to the mood she was in.

She touched her head. "I have headaches. It is since your father died. I should have guessed it couldn't have lasted. But he did seem better. I should have been prepared ... but it was a great shock when it came. I sometimes feel I shall never get over it." She smiled at me ruefully. "It is a house of mourning ... no place for a young girl."

"For me, you mean. But it is my home. He was my father."

"My dear Ann Alice, I know that when I first came here you resented me. You were so fond of Miss Bray, weren't you? It is always hard to follow on a favourite."

I was silent and she went on: "I have tried to do what I can. I think you also resented my marriage. It is understandable. Stepmothers are often not the most popular people, are they? How could they be—replacing a dearly loved mother? But I tried. Perhaps I failed."

I did not know what to say. I stammered: "You made my father very happy."

She smiled, looking like her old self. "Yes, I did that. And he has left me a sacred trust."

"Together with an adequate income, I believe."

She looked at me rather reproachfully. "I don't think of that. I think of you. I take this trust... very seriously."

"There is no need. I can't think why my father decided to make it. I am not a child any more."

"You are eighteen. It is not very old and you are a girl who has led a very sheltered life. He thought you were inclined to be impulsive, carried away."

"Oh, did he say that?"

"Oh yes. It was this sudden friendship with Magnus Perrensen which made him a little anxious."