“Oh thanks. Don’t tell anyone. People get so panicky about rats and if it got to Mrs. Kirkwell’s ears she’d be hysterical.”

“All right. Don’t worry. I’ll get it and say nothing.”

“And as soon as you come back, I’ll put it in the dustbin. Thanks so much, Miss Davina.”

I went straight to the drug shop. There was a young man behind the counter. He smiled at me.

“I want sixpennyworth of arsenic,” I said.

He looked at me, faintly surprised. “Oh … er … Miss, I have to ask you what you want it for. It’s a sort of rule … if you know what I mean.”

“Of course. We have rats in the garden. They have been round the mews quarters and seem now to have come closer to the house.”

“It will do the trick,” he said. “But as it’s poison, I have to ask you to sign the book.”

“I understand that.”

He went to a drawer and brought out a book with a red cover. A label had been stuck on it which stated: “Henniker’s Sale of Poisons Registration Book.”

“Do you sell a lot of arsenic?” I asked.

“No, Miss. But people use it for vermin and things like that. It’s very effective. One lick and that’s the end of them. They do say it does something for the complexion and that ladies use it for that. I couldn’t say. Men take it, too.” He looked at me slyly. “They say it has powers.”

“Powers?”

“When they are not so young, you know.”

He opened the book, and wrote the date and my name and address which I spelt out for him. “Sixpennyworth of arsenic for vermin in garden. Now you sign here, Miss.”

I did and came out of the shop with a small packet in the pocket of my skirt.

I found Jamie waiting for me, and we talked as usual and I felt frustrated, for I knew it would be a long time before he could take me out of this difficult situation.

When I came back to the house Ellen was waiting for me. Surreptitiously she took the packet.

“I haven’t seen any more yet,” she said. “I’ll use this right away.”

A FEW DAYS LATER when I saw Ellen she told me that it had worked beautifully, she was sure. She had not seen anything since and Mrs. Kirkwell had no idea that the rats had been so close. She impressed on me not to mention it to her.

It was later that afternoon. Zillah had gone out in the carriage as she often did. She enjoyed going to the shops and sometimes, she told me, Hamish took her for a tour of the town. Listening to my talk of it she had become interested and was finding it fascinating.

Usually she was home before five o’clock when she would change for dinner—by no means a short operation with her.

I fancied my father had been weaker since his last bout of illness. Zillah thought so, too. Sometimes when he came home he seemed very tired and needed little persuasion to have his meal in his own room. Zillah would, of course, take hers with him.

“It makes him feel less of an invalid and he likes me to be there,” she said.

On this particular occasion it was getting late and Zillah had not returned.

I went over to the mews. The carriage was not there. Mr. and Mrs. Vosper were in. They told me that Hamish had taken Mrs. Glentyre out as he often did and they expected him to be back at any moment.

Mrs. Kirkwell was wondering whether to serve dinner. The master was having his in his room, but he would expect Mrs. Glentyre to have it with him there.

“He’ll have to be told,” said Mrs. Kirkwell. “You’d best tell him, Miss Davina.”

I went to his room. He was dressed for dinner and was sitting in a chair.

“Is that you, my dear?” he said with relief.

“No,” I replied. “It is I.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Zillah has not returned.”

“Where is she?”

“I thought she went shopping.”

“In the carriage?”

“Yes.”

“She wouldn’t be shopping at this hour surely?”

“No.”

“Then where is she?”

He was clutching the sides of his chair arid had half risen. I thought how ill he looked. He had lost weight and there were dark shadows under his eyes.

I remembered Mrs. Kirkwell’s saying how he had changed and repeating her conviction that it was not good when old men married young women.

It was just at that moment when I heard the sound of carriage wheels. I rushed to the window.

“It’s the carriage. She’s here.”

“Oh, thank God,” said my father.

In a few moments Zillah rushed into the room.

“Oh, my dears, what an adventure! Were you wondering where I was? The carriage broke down. We had driven out to take a look at Arthur’s Seat. I wanted to see it—hearing you talk about it, Davina …”

“Didn’t Hamish know what was wrong?” asked my father.

“Oh yes. He tried to put it right. He discovered that he needed something … I don’t know what. He said he would get a cab for me to come back … but it was so difficult right out there to get one. Anyway … he managed to fix it up … enough to get us home. But it made this terrible delay.”

“I have been so worried,” said my father.

“Oh, how sweet of you!”

“But of course I was worried.”

“He’s only just heard that you hadn’t come back at the time,” I said.

“I was wondering what could have happened to you,” went on my father.

She ruffled his hair. “Well, here I am. And we are going to have our cosy little meal for the two of us. You’ll excuse us, Davina … I think that’s how it should be tonight.”

“But of course,” I said.

I left them together and went downstairs and ate a solitary meal.

THE NEXT AFTERNOON Miss Appleyard called. Zillah had not gone out. I thought she was a little shaken by the carriage incident of the previous day. She and I were in the drawing room together when Miss Appleyard was announced.

We knew her only slightly. In the old days my mother had exchanged a word or two with her after church. I had heard it said that she was a rather malicious gossip who thrived on scandal. My mother had once said that she was a person from whom one should keep one’s distance.

Why should she come calling on us? I wondered.

Bess said: “She’s asking for Mr. Glentyre. I was sure she said Mr.”

“Doesn’t she know he is at the bank at this hour?” said Zillah.

“I wouldn’t know, Mrs. Glentyre. But that’s what she said.”

“I suppose you’d better show her in.”

Miss Appleyard came into the drawing room and looked abashed when she saw us.

“I asked to see Mr. Glentyre,” she said.

“Good afternoon, Miss Appleyard,” I began.

She nodded in my direction and then looked rather venomously, I thought, at Zillah.

“I wanted to speak to Mr. Glentyre,” she reiterated.

“Is it banking business? He’s at the bank at this time, you know,” said Zillah, regarding her coldly.

“Well, I know he’s home quite a lot.”

Now how did she know that? I wondered. But she was the sort of woman who would make other people’s business hers.

“Can we help?” asked Zillah.

For a few moments Miss Appleyard stood biting her lips as though making a decision.

“I’ll have a word with Mrs. Glentyre,” she said, looking significantly at me.

I said: “I’ll leave you.”

Miss Appleyard nodded approvingly and I went out, wondering what this was all about.

Some ten minutes later I heard her leave the house and I went back to Zillah.

She was sitting in the sofa staring ahead of her. She looked troubled.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

“Oh, she was indignant about somebody’s ‘goings-on.’ I didn’t know what she was talking about half the time. Silly old fool!”

“She seems to have upset you.”

“Oh no. I just can’t stand that sort of person. They pry into other people’s affairs and try to make trouble.”

“Why did she want to see my father?”

“Oh, it was something about money … I don’t know. Somebody at the bank. I’m glad he wasn’t in. He wouldn’t have much patience with that sort of thing.”

“She evidently thought it was too shocking for my ears.”

“Silly old gossip! What’s the time? Your father will be home soon. I think I’ll go up and have a bath and get ready. Would you tell them to send up some hot water?”

“Of course. You sure you’re all right?”

“Certainly I’m all right.” She sounded a little irritated, which was unlike her. I wondered why Miss Appleyard’s visit had upset her so much.

I left her then and did not see her again until we were at dinner, which we took together in the dining room that night.

My father was unctuous. His anxiety of the previous evening over her late return to the house had no doubt made him feel how very important she was to him.

She remarked that he was looking tired and if he were not better in the morning she was going to insist that he spend a day in his room.

“Zillah!” he said.

“But I shall,” she said firmly. “I shall keep you here … and dance attendance on you all through the day. It’s no use protesting. I shall insist.”

He shrugged his shoulders and looked at her with great tenderness.

I thought what a change she had wrought in him. He was a different man with her.

TRUE TO HER WORD, she insisted on his staying home next day.

“He’s all right,” she said. “All he needs is rest.”

It was mid-morning when Ellen knocked at the door of my room.

She said: “Miss Davina, I must speak to you. I’ve bad news.”

“Bad news?” I echoed.

She nodded. ”From my cousin. She lives near my mother. My mother is very ill … as a matter of fact, not expected to live. I must go to her.”

“But of course, Ellen.”

“I’ll leave today if I can, Miss. There’s a train to London at two-thirty. If I could leave in that …”

“Can you be ready? It’s such short notice.”

“I must.”

“Have you spoken to Mrs. Glentyre?”

“Well, she’s up with the master. I wanted to have a word with her, of course, but I thought I’d tell you and see if it was all right.”

“I’ll go and tell her you want to see her. In the meantime you get on with your packing. Hamish can take you to the station.”

“Oh, thank you, Miss Davina. That’s a great weight off my mind.”

I went to the master bedroom and knocked. Zillah came to the door. I glimpsed my father. He was sitting in his chair in his dressing gown.

I said: “Ellen’s in trouble. Her mother is very ill. She has to leave today for London. She wants to see you.”

“My goodness. Poor Ellen. I’ll go to her right away. Where is she?”

“In her room packing.”

I left and she turned to my father and said something to him.

Ellen left that afternoon.

THAT EVENING I dined with my father and Zillah. He was wearing his dressing gown, but Zillah had said she thought it would be better for him to come to the dining room.

“She treats me like a child,” said my father, pouting like one.

Zillah talked with her usual animation throughout the meal, and it seemed that the day’s rest had been good for my father.

“We shall do this more often,” announced Zillah.

When we had finished eating my father was impatient for his glass of port which he always took at the end of the meal. Kirkwell was not there. After the last course had been served he would disappear and come back later to pour out the port. But on this occasion it seemed we had finished more quickly than usual.

I said: “I’ll get your port wine, Father,” and I went to the sideboard. There was very little left in the decanter. I poured out a glassful and as I did so Kirkwell came into the room.

“Ah,” he said, “you are already at the port. I’m sorry. I noticed the decanter was almost empty, so in case there was not enough I went down to the cellar for another bottle. I have decanted it and here it is. Have you enough in that one, Miss Davina?”

“Oh yes,” I said. “Would you like a glass, Zillah?”

“Not tonight,” she said.

Kirkwell looked questioningly at me. I shook my head and said: “No thanks.”

He set the full decanter down beside the empty one.

When my father had finished his port Zillah said: “We’ll say goodnight, Davina. I don’t want your father overtaxed.”

Again that exasperated and loving look.

I said goodnight and went to my room.

IT MUST HAVE BEEN about two o’clock in the morning when there was a knock on my door.