"But she died ... that night. The room was walled up. I know she was telling the truth. She was writing down what she saw... and heard. That comes through very clearly. It is nonsense to suggest she was making it up."

"All right. It wouldn't be very pleasant to be confronted by the fact that your great-great-grandparents were murderers. I should say nothing to anyone about what you have read in the journal. It has nothing whatsoever to do with the present time."

"I know that's so, but I can't help thinking of that man Desmond Featherstone. When I look at Raymond, I see him. That is why I could not say I would marry him. I can't forget that those two were Raymond's great-great-grandparents."

Granny shook her head. "It's the shock," she said. "That's what it is. It was all so unexpected ... discovering that. You'll get over it. It's disappointing to us all, but it will do no harm to wait awhile. You'll see what's right in time." She kissed me. "I'm glad you told me. Get a good night's sleep. We'll be off early in the morning."

But I could not sleep. I was haunted by strange, wild dreams. I was in that room... the room which had been shut for nearly a hundred years. My door was locked. There was an enormous key in the door. I heard footsteps on the stairs. Someone was trying the door. I kept my eyes on the key. The door was fast shut. But there was a loud noise and the door burst open. A man was coming in. It was Raymond. I cried out in joy and held out my arms to him, but as he came towards me, his face changed. It was the face of Desmond Featherstone. I screamed as he came close.

And my scream awakened me.

I stared into the darkness.

If I married him I should have dreams like that. I should be looking for that evil man in my husband.

I was afraid to sleep in case the dream came back. However, I dozed and when I awoke it was to find the maid in my room with hot water.

It was time to get up.

How different everything was by daylight! I remembered where I was and that this happy visit had come to an end. The thought saddened me. It ought to have been so different.

I was going to miss Raymond very much.

I had been foolish, I thought. In time I would see everything differently. Then all would be well, and I should banish my foolish imaginings forever.

AMSTERDAM

Arriving home was rather depressing. There was no news from Philip. The house seemed very quiet. Granny M remarked on it. "It's after that house full of family," she said. "They are a very happy group. There is something about a big family. I wish we could hear from Philip and I wish your father would come home."

I went to my room and unpacked my things and as I hung them up I thought of the occasions when I had worn them, sitting down to dinner, joining in the talk at the table.

Yes, our house did seem quiet, I wished I were back there. I had never before noticed how quiet we were. When Philip had been with us it had been more lively. Now we were back to the longing for him, very conscious of the void his absence made in our lives.

We were back with memories of him, with watching every day for the news which did not come.

I wished we were still with the Billingtons. I had been foolish. I should have agreed to marry Raymond. I must love him for I missed him so much. When I was in that house I had ceased to think continually of Philip and had been able to forget him for certain periods of time. Now all the longing to see him, the anxiety, had returned.

If I had said Yes to Raymond, I should now be thinking of my coming marriage. Granny and I would have been making excited plans.

I wished it were so. I was a fool.

I went up to Ann Alice's room and sat there.

"If I had never found your journal everything would have been different," I said to Ann Alice, as though she were there. I often felt as though she were. "Philip would not have become obsessed with the need to find the island. He would still be with us, I should be getting ready for my marriage to Raymond. You have changed everything for me, Ann Alice."

How silent it was. Nothing ... but the gentle moaning of the wind rustling the leaves in the yew that was just outside the newly opened window. I could imagine I heard voices in the wind. But then I was always imaginative in this room.

Granny was right. The past was done with. It was folly to let it impinge on the present. It had been such a shock to discover that Raymond's ancestors had been involved with mine. Two of his had murdered Ann Alice, and Freddy ... little Freddy of whom there was not much written but who seemed to have been a rather charming boy... was his greatgrandfather. Raymond must have been rather like Freddy when he was a boy. Yet Freddy had been the child of murderers.

Again and again I wished I had never discovered the journal. I wished that I had never discovered the connection between our two families. There must be many things in life which it is better not to know.

I was sitting in that room close to the window thinking of Ann Alice on that night when suddenly I heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Slowly, laboriously, they were coming along the corridor.

In that moment I was Ann Alice. I sat there staring at the door. I saw the handle slowly turn. I was reliving it all again. Between me and that girl there was certainly some mystic bond.

Slowly the door opened. I was expecting him ... that evil man. I had conjured up a picture of what he looked like—rather flashily handsome with thick sensual lips and dark fierce eyes, greedy eyes, who stretched out to take what he wanted and did not care whether he crushed anyone who stood in his way.

I gave a little gasp as Granny M stepped into the room.

"Up here again!" she said. "Why, you look quite white and scared out of your wits. You're as bad as the servants with their ghosts... only they do have the sense to keep away from the place."

She came in and sat on the bed and the room immediately assumed an air of normality.

"What are you doing up here? You're always up here. For two pins I'd have it closed up again."

"I have a sort of compulsion to come," I told her. "I heard your steps on the stairs and I thought for a moment..."

"You thought I was someone returned from the dead! Really, child, you've got to stop all this. It's a parcel of nonsense. You're working up something which is just a fantasy. If it hadn't been for that storm..."

"I often say that. If it hadn't been for the storm ..."

"Well, it's no use saying that now. It happened and there is an end to it. Why do you come here? You're becoming obsessed by what you read in that journal."

"Well, you see Granny, first I found her grave... and then her journal, and now there is this discovery about Freddy's being Raymond's greatgrandfather. It's like a pattern."

"It's all very logical, my dear. We agreed on that. Little Freddy went in for map making ... naturally he would, having learned something about it in his childhood and become fascinated by it as so many do. What his parents got up to is no concern of ours. It's all long ago. People did all sorts of things then which we wouldn't do now. We met Raymond because he is in the business, and as there are not so many of us around, that's natural enough. There is nothing mystical about it at all. Get that out of your head. You've got a lot of imagination and sometimes that can be a bad thing. Stop thinking about it. It's over and done with. And when I think that you refused Raymond because of some fanciful ideas ... it just makes me wonder how I brought you up. It does really. There's Philip goes off on some wild-goose chase..."

She was silent. We looked at each other. Then I went to her and for a moment we clung together.

She extricated herself almost immediately. She never believed in giving way to emotion.

"We have had a very pleasant visit," she said, "and now we've come home and we miss it all. I shall ask Raymond to come for the weekend. No use asking the brother and father. I daresay they will be expected to go down to Buckinghamshire. But I am sure everyone will understand if I ask Raymond. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

I agreed that I would.

"You should see him more often. You should get away from all those morbid imaginings. Perhaps then you will come to your senses."

"I hope so, Granny."

"My dear child, so do I."

Raymond was at our house a good deal. Spending weekends with us had become quite a habit. He said his family would very much like it if we went to them for another visit.

Although I wanted to, I was still unsure, and I did not want to face that expectancy again until I could give a definite answer. It seemed unfair to Raymond, who was kind and understanding. Sometimes I almost said: 'Til marry you as soon as you want me to."

I could talk to him on any subject... except one, and that was my knowledge of the wickedness of his ancestors. That I could not speak of and until I did there must be a barrier between us. There were times when I thought of it in the clear light of day that it seemed quite nonsensical. I just had this horrible fear that I should look for traits of Desmond Featherstone in him... and find them. I had this uncanny feeling that Ann Alice was warning me.

It was nonsense, of course. I had just allowed myself to become obsessed by the discovery of the grave and the closed room—and the journal which had explained so much.

When I rode with Raymond, when he dined with Granny and me and some of our friends, everything seemed different. I was pleased when he excelled in discussion, when everyone said what a charming person he was, and when Benjamin Darkin and he talked together and the old man showed him such respect. Surely that was loving.

I think Granny was a little exasperated with me. A wedding prospect would have taken her mind off Philip. Marriage and, in time, babies. That was what she would have liked.

Sometimes I thought I could, and then would come those dreams... those rather fearful dreams, particularly that one which recurred, the one when I was in the room, heard the footsteps on the stairs, and the coming of Raymond who turned into Desmond Featherstone*

I seemed to hear a voice within me saying: "Not yet. Not yet." And in my more fanciful moments I imagined that it was Ann Alice who spoke to me.

October had come. It was a year since Philip had gone. Both Granny M and I were dreading the anniversary of his departure. She made sure that Raymond was with us on that day. I must say that that helped considerably.

We got through it and then it was November... dark gloomy days... the sort of days when memories came back.

We were invited to spend Christmas with the Billingtons and this we did.

We could not have had a more delightful Christmas although it was inevitable that we should think of past Christmases when Philip was with us. We neither of us mentioned him on Christmas Day. It was a sort of unspoken pact between us. As was to be expected, all the old customs were carried out. Great fires roared in the grates. There were quantities of seasonal food; and much merriment in which the whole neighbourhood seemed to join.

The younger members of the family all went riding on Boxing morning and Grace, Basil, and James followed their usual custom of losing themselves, so that Raymond and I were alone together.

I was as happy as I could be, considering my growing anxiety about Philip. Raymond understood and he talked of Philip. He did not try to soothe me. I believe he was beginning to think that some misadventure had befallen him and he wanted me to be prepared for bad news.

It was a bright day, with frost in the air—a sparkling sort of day which sets one's skin glowing. The horses were frisky and we let them gallop across a meadow, pulling up sharp as we came to the hedge.

Raymond said: "Ready for the glass of cider?"

I replied that I was. There would be the intimacy of the parlour with probably no one else there on Boxing Day. Perhaps he would ask me again. I hoped not, for although I was wavering, I was still unsure.

There was a big fire in the inn parlour and a Christmas tree set up in the window and sprigs of holly behind the pictures on the walls.

"They are determined we shan't forget it's Christmastime," said Raymond.

He ordered the cider. There was no one else in the parlour.

The host brought it. He said: "Not many people about this morning. It's the holiday. Most of them are at their own firesides."