Sometimes I wake in the night and fancy my door handle is being slowly turned. How thankful I am for my key! I am very grateful to Thomas Gow and have tried to find one or two jobs for him, and I have decided that when we have something which needs to be done, I will not go to the big firm in Great Stanton but give Thomas Gow the chance to do it.

I believe he is quite ambitious and he certainly is prepared to work hard. Such people should be given a chance to get on.

I had an unpleasant surprise today.

I had thought that Christmas would be celebrated in the usual way. When I suggested to my stepmother that we ought to set about making the usual preparations she looked horrified.

"But, my dear, this is a house of mourning. We shall spend Christmas quietly. I could not agree to anything else."

"I was not suggesting that we should have a riotous feast ... just a few friends."

"There cannot be any guests. It is such a short time since your father died."

I shrugged my shoulders. "Well, perhaps just Magnus Perrensen."

"Oh ... but no guests at all."

"But my father said we must make him feel at home. He won't have any family of his own. We will just ask him."

I smiled to myself. That would be best of all. Just Magnus. We would ride in the morning and have a quiet day together.

"I had thought of that," said my stepmother. "And I have already spoken to Mrs. Masters about it. She said that naturally Mr. Perrensen will have his Christmas with them. He came in while we were discussing it and she suggested it to him there and then, and he was most agreeable."

I was angry. "It seems that plans are made without consulting me.

"Oh, I am sorry. But it was not exactly planned. It seemed just the only thing to do in the circumstances."

There is something about my stepmother. I suppose it is her worldliness. But in a situation like this one she has a gift for making one feel unreasonable, foolish, making a fuss about something quite trivial. She does it so well that she almost makes you believe it yourself.


December 27th

Christmas is over. I am glad. I am glad of everything that brings me nearer to March.

It went off reasonably well, except that we had the odious Desmond Featherstone with us.

He came to church with us in the morning. They stood on either side of me singing "O Come, All Ye Faithful." He has a deep loud bellowing sort of voice which can be heard above the rest of the congregation, and all the time we were standing singing he seemed to edge closer to me.

We walked across the Green home.

My stepmother was a little sad. She told me she could not help thinking of last Christmas when my father was there.

I saw Magnus in church, sitting with the Masters, and when he looked at me I was happy. His eyes were clearly saying: Not long now. This time next year, where shall we be?

I gave myself up to blissful wondering.

And so Christmas passed.

Soon we shall be into the New Year.


January 2nd 1793

What a strange beginning to the New Year.

I had been out with Freddy. He is beginning to ride quite well

although when he came to us he had never sat on a horse. I often take him out with me.

As we came in one of the servants appeared and told me that two gentlemen had called and were asking either for Mrs. or Miss Mallory.

"Who are they?" I asked.

"They did not give a name, Miss Ann Alice. But they said it was important."

"Where is Mrs. Mallory?"

"She is out at the moment."

"I'll see them then. Are they in the parlour?"

She said they were so I told Freddy to go up to his room and I would see him later.

I went into the little sitting room which we call the parlour. It is a small room leading off the hall.

One of the men was familiar to me and as soon as he came forward I recognized him.

The last time he had come he had brought bad news.

"It's James Cardew, Miss Mallory," he said.

"Oh yes ... yes ... I remember."

"And this is Mr. Francis Graham."

We exchanged greetings.

"Mr. Graham has just arrived from Australia and in view of what he had to tell me I thought I should come to see you immediately. It concerns your brother, Miss Mallory. I am so sorry that you suffered such a shock on my last visit. It seems that your brother was not lost after all."

"Oh..." My voice sounded faint. I was filled with joy. Charles was alive! This was wonderful news. Mr. Cardew turned to his companion. "Mr. Graham will explain."

"Please sit down," I said faintly.

So we sat and Mr. Graham told me the story.

It appeared that Charles had been picked up after several days in the water. He was more dead than alive. The ship had been on its way to Sydney, and Charles had been in such a state of shock and exhaustion that he had been unaware of who he was.

"His memory had completely gone," said Mr. Graham. "He was in an emaciated state. It was thought he could not live. And even when he recovered a little, his memory was gone, which explains why you have heard nothing of him all this time. I was a passenger on that ship. I do business between England and the new colony. When we picked up your brother, I was very interested in his case and when we arrived in Sydney I said I would keep an eye on him. It was obvious that he was of good family and English, and when we were on the ship I had tried to help him recover his memory. He did remember enough to give me some indication of his background, and when we came to Sydney I took him to some friends of mine and asked if they would keep him there, which they did. When I returned to Sydney I was able to see him. Well, to get down to what really matters, I discovered that his name was Charles... Not an unusual name and we were looking at some maps recently and the name Mallory was mentioned. That set something working in his mind.

"I knew of Mallory's maps. Mr. Cardew was a friend of mine. It was some time before I could get in touch with him but finally I did and we are certain that this man is your brother. I did not want to bring him over until I had checked out a few facts with Mr. Cardew and yourselves—so he is still with my friends. But we are convinced now that this man is your brother. He will be sailing shortly and arriving in England perhaps in March."

I cried: "It's wonderful news. I only wish my father had lived for this:'

"He died, did he?" asked James Cardew.

"Yes. He had been ill on and off for some time, but hearing of my brother's death seemed to undermine him completely ... and he just succumbed to his illness."

"I wish I had never brought that news to you."

"It was good of you to come. We had to know. We were worried about that long silence before you came."

"I thought I must let you know as soon as I could. This is a happier visit than my last."

My stepmother came in then. She had heard we had visitors and that they were in the parlour.

"This is Mr. James Cardew and Mr. Francis Graham. They have brought wonderful news. Charles is alive!" I cried.

"Charles ..."

"My brother whom we thought was lost at sea. He was picked up."

"Picked up ... " She stared. "It can't be! After all this time."

I had an idea that she wanted to prove that the man who was picked up was not my brother.

"Strange things happen at sea," said Francis Graham. "I have heard of cases like this before. It is a fact that Mr. Charles Mallory was shipwrecked but picked up. He suffered from loss of memory among other things and was therefore unable to communicate with his family."

"It is so... incredible."

She was very pale. Of course, she had never known Charles. I could hardly expect her to share my joy.

"Won't it be wonderful when he comes home," I cried. "I can't thank you enough for bringing us this news. Now we are going to drink to the health of my brother, and to all those kind people who have looked after him."

My stepmother has recovered herself. She summoned one of the servants. She instructed them to bring wine and to set two more places at the table.

What a happy day this has been!

I feel so safe now. Charles will soon be home.

I suddenly realize that the house is no longer mine. I am glad. That is how it should be. I should have felt dreadful about going away and leaving it. And of course that is what I shall have to do when I marry Magnus...

Oh, happy day! A lovely beginning to the New Year.


January 4th

Desmond Featherstone arrived today. I came in and there he was coming down the stairs.

I stopped short and stared at him. "So you are back," I said.

"What a nice welcome! You make me feel so much at home."

"It seems," I said, "that you have made this house your home."

"You are all so hospitable."

I began to feel that shivery feeling, as though—as Miss Bray used to say—someone was walking over my grave.

Why should I feel this? It was broad daylight—a bright frosty day. We have turned the corner and the days are getting longer. It is still dark early, but every day there is a little change. And March will soon be here.

What am I afraid of?

He is shocked. I saw that at dinner. He is so angry about something that he cannot conceal it. I know what it is, of course. It is due to Charles. He is angry because Charles is alive!

Of course, he has some plans for me. He thought the house was mine, the business was mine. No wonder he wants to marry me.

All that is changed now. The true heir is alive. Charles will come back and when he does he will be master of this house. I am sure that then there will be no place in it for Mr. Desmond Featherstone.

Come home soon, Charles.

I am feeling happy today. The days have started to get longer. I have my key so that I may lock myself in. Charles is coming home. And very soon March will be here.


February 1st

I cannot believe this story. It is incredible. How could there possibly be plague in Great Stanton? When I think of the plague I am reminded of lessons with Miss Bray. A red cross on the door. The death cart and "Bring out your dead."

That could not happen nowadays.

I went to the Shop today. I love going there. I try always to go at midday when they are stopping work. Mrs. Masters often sends over a tray. She is only across the road, but Mr. Masters says he doesn't always want to leave the Shop. He is always busy on some project or other—so the food is sent over.

And I go in often and join them. It is such a happy hour, that.

The main topic of conversation for the last week has been the execution of the King of France. We were all shocked about that. It seems so terrible and we have long discussions about what effect this is going to have in France ... and on England. Magnus is enormously interested, and coming from the Continent, he has a slightly different approach to every subject. He is a great talker and loves a discussion; and, I am discovering, so do I.

But now all that is forgotten. We have a local event which seems of greater importance.

The fact is that a certain Mr. Grant and his son Silas have just returned from Dalmatia bringing with them bales of cloth. They are tailors. A few days ago Mr. Grant senior developed a strange illness-severe fever, soaring temperature, sickness and delirium. The doctor was nonplussed, and when he was about to call in another opinion Mr. Grant developed dark spots and patches all over his skin. These turned into horrible sores and it seems that all these are the symptoms of bubonic plague, which has not been seen in England since the beginning of this century.

He died within a short time.

Perhaps the matter would have been forgotten but a very short time after the death of his father, Silas Grant began to show the same symptoms.

So now this has been definitely diagnosed as the Plague. There has been consternation everywhere, because when this sort of disease is brought into a country there is no knowing how far it will spread.

So we talked of this strange occurrence while we ate Mrs. Masters' excellent chicken.

Magnus as usual took charge of the conversation. He talked at length about the Great Plague of London in 1665 which quite devastated the country. We had suffered little from it since because, said Magnus, it had taught us a great lesson and that was that one of the main causes was a lack of cleanliness and bad drainage.