“But the case is over for you.”

“A case such as this would never be over for me. I don’t like the verdict. In my heart I know it should have been Not Guilty. I shall always hope that someday the truth will come to light.”

“You do not think my father really killed himself?”

“It’s the most likely possibility, but there remains that shadow of a doubt.” He lifted his shoulders. “However, let me have that address.”

I gave it to him and he put it into his wallet.

“So the governess was dismissed,” he went on, “and the new one came: the beautiful Miss Zillah Grey whose surname you are going to use.”

“Yes.”

“And in a very short time she was married to your father. That’s very interesting.”

“I suppose it is. I believe governesses occasionally do marry the widowed fathers of their charges.”

“It comes about in … a natural kind of way,” he said slowly.

Then Zillah came into the room.

He rose and I said: “You remember my stepmother.”

“But of course.” He had taken her hand and was smiling warmly at her. “We met in court.”

She returned the smile dazzlingly, and in spite of the fact that I was accustomed to her beauty it struck me forcibly. She seemed to blossom in the society of men—like a flower in the rain.

“You were wonderful,” she said. “I can’t thank you enough for what you did for …”

“I was grateful to you. Your evidence was vital to our case.”

She sat opposite him, rather carefully, I thought, placing her back to the light as though she did not want to be seen too clearly. She was deferential, as though displaying admiration for him. He liked it obviously and did not appear to question the fact that it might be a little false.

She immediately engaged him in conversation.

“Has my stepdaughter been telling you her plans to go away for a while? Do tell me. Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“I think it’s an excellent idea. I was just saying so to Miss Glentyre.”

“And did she tell you … ?” she began anxiously.

“About changing her name? Yes. I think that might be a good idea, too.”

“I am so glad. It was my suggestion. I was a little worried. I do so want …”

“To do the best for Miss Glentyre, of course. Yes, I am sure it is a good idea, both to get away and to ensure a little anonymity.”

“Then I shall feel happier about it now. Davina, my dear, did you offer our guest refreshment?”

“No, we were talking and …”

She looked at me with indulgent reproof.

“It’s very kind of you,” said Ninian quickly. “But I must be on my way. I just called in to see how Miss Glentyre was faring.”

“How very good of you! So sympathetic and understanding. I often think how lucky Davina was to have you to defend her.”

“I don’t really deserve so much praise.”

“You do!” She added almost archly: “And I shall insist on giving it to you.”

I smiled. I felt he was very pleased that she had joined us. There was a little more chat—mostly between him and Zillah —then he rose to go.

I felt disappointed in him. He had been so obviously impressed by Zillah’s charms. Of course, I had always known they were considerable, but I would not have thought that he would succumb to them so easily.

Zillah’s mood changed abruptly when he had gone.

“Why on earth did he want to come here like that?” she demanded.

“He said he just wanted to know how I was getting on.”

“Does he go round visiting all his ex-clients?”

“I think he regards this as a rather special case.”

“/ think he is rather inquisitive. He got you off … and that is where the case ends for him.”

“He very much wanted a verdict of Not Guilty.”

“Didn’t we all?”

“Well, he seemed to get on well with you.”

She allowed a self-satisfied smile to cross her face.

“Oh well, it’s all over now, and what we have to do, dear, is forget about it.”

As if I ever could!

LILIAS’ ANSWER had arrived.

I am expecting you. We understand about the name. So from the moment you arrive you will be Diana Grey. Don’t worry. No one will know except my father, my sister Jane and myself. We all want to do what we can to help. Dear Davina—but I suppose I must start thinking of you as Diana —rest assured that I have convinced my family that you have been as wrongly suspected as I had. We are a closely knit family and trust one another absolutely.

It has occurred to me that it is a rather strange coincidence that we have both been wrongly accused. It is almost as though there is some malignant spirit in the house. That’s nonsense, of course, but it does seem odd. Oh, what a lot we shall have to talk about! I am so looking forward to seeing you.

It’s going to be a long journey for you. You’ll have to come to London first and then take the train to the west country. We’re about three miles from Tinton Crawley, but I’ll be at the station with a dogcart to meet you.

I can’t wait. With love,

LlLIAS

P.S. I am enclosing instructions about the journey, together with the address of the London hotel where I spent the night. It’s small, quiet and near the station.

I started at once to make my preparations.

IT WAS WITH GREAT RELIEF that I set out and even as the train steamed out of the Edinburgh station I felt as though a great burden had dropped from me. I believed that I had, to some extent, made a gap between the present and the nightmarish past.

As we speeded to the Border I looked anxiously at my fellow passengers, for I had the sudden fear that one of them at least might know me. My picture had been in the papers; and there had been one in particular, an “artist’s impression,” which had horrified me. The sketch had been sufficiently like me to be recognisable, but the artist had managed to twist my features into a mask of cunning. At that time the world had made up its mind that I had murdered my father and the artist was fitting the face to what he believed were the facts.

There was a young couple opposite me, perhaps going on their honeymoon; they seemed entirely absorbed in each other and gave me no qualms; nor did the man intent on his newspaper. But there was a rather garrulous woman in the far corner who was determined to talk to someone, and as the others were obviously engrossed, she turned to me. She was going south to visit her married daughter and was longing for the reunion with her grandchildren. She asked me a few questions about my destination, but rather perfunctorily, I realised. Her thoughts were clearly for her coming visit, and I breathed more freely.

I need not have worried. My confidence returned. I was just nervous. I must stop imagining that people would recognise me. I was escaping to Lilias, that refuge to which she had returned, confident of love and understanding.

I spent a night in the London hotel near the station, just as Lilias had explained. It was not a very restful night, but I did not mind. I was on my way.

The following morning when I caught the train from Paddington Station the sense of relief was growing with every minute. Settling in a corner of the railway carriage, I looked out on the green countryside, noticing that the plants and trees were a little more advanced here than they were in the harsher north. My fellow passengers were agreeable, and there was a little general conversation. I knew that none of them had the faintest idea who I was, and that I had been oversensitive on that score.

The train steamed westwards; the country had grown even more verdantly lush. I caught a glimpse of the sea. I had seen little villages clustering round churches such as Lilias had often described to me in the old days; I saw the rich red soil of which she had talked, and I knew that we were in the county of Devonshire.

At last I had arrived. As we came into the station I saw Lilias on the platform and I was happier than I had ever been since the nightmare began.

We ran together and clung for some seconds. Then she held me at arm’s length. “It’s wonderful to see you. And you are looking better than I expected to see you. Oh, my dear, what a time! But it is over now. Come on. The dogcart is waiting. We’ll get the luggage out.”

The stationmaster was standing by, smiling at us.

“Oh, Jack,” she said. “Could you get Jim to put the luggage into the dogcart?”

“Right you be, Miss Lilias. Jim, Jim! Hi, Jim! Luggage for Miss Lilias.” He smiled at me. “And you be come to Lakemere, Miss. You be staying long?”

“I … er …”

“We’re hoping Miss Grey will stay for a long time. There it is, Jim.”

She took my arm.

“They are waiting impatiently at home,” she said. “Longing to meet you.”

Then we were gambolling along lanes so narrow that the hedges almost brushed against us as we passed.

“I’m so glad you came,” she said.

“I feel so much better since I left Edinburgh.”

“Of course. You wanted to get away. It’s the right thing. It’s the only thing. And we can talk. It will be just like the old days.”

I was overwhelmed by emotion as I sat beside her. She talked animatedly, stressing every now and then how delighted she was that I had decided to come. It was a wonderful welcome.

“We shall soon be there,” she said. “Oh, look down there! You can see the church tower. Our church is just about one of the oldest in the west country. More than seven hundred years old—a perfect example of Norman architecture, as it says in the guide books. Oh yes, we get visitors. There’s some lovely stained glass, too. My father is very proud of it. I must make sure he doesn’t bore you about it. Jane and I tell him he gets obsessions, and one of them is his dear old church.”

As we drew nearer I saw the grey stone walls of the church, the graveyard with the old stones leaning a little askew in some places among the yews and the cypresses.

“Some of those trees have been here for centuries,” Lilias told me. “They have seen many vicars come and go. Aren’t the cypresses lovely? Someone told me they represent eternity and that is why they are so often planted in graveyards. Country lore! I’m preparing you. You’ll get plenty of that from my father. And here we are … the vicarage.”

It was a largish house, grey stone like the church; before it was a well-kept lawn with flower beds surrounding it. And there at the door was a man whom I knew at once was Lilias’ father—and with him a woman, clearly sister Jane.

They came towards us as Lilias brought the dogcart to a halt.

“Here we are,” cried Lilias. “The train was on time, for once. This is … Diana.”

My hands were clasped in a firm grip and I was looking into the smiling, benign face of the Reverend George Milne.

“Welcome, welcome, my dear,” he said. “We are so pleased that you have come. Lilias has been so happy since you said you would.”

“And this is Jane,” said Lilias.

Jane was rather like Lilias and I knew I was going to like her for that reason alone.

Her greeting was as warm as that of her father had been. I said how glad I was to meet them and what a peaceful spot it was. The flowers were lovely.

“You’ve won Jane’s heart,” said Lilias. “She has an obsession with the garden.”

“It’s a good thing that I have,” retorted Jane. “Someone has to do it. It would be like a wilderness left to you. Come along in. I expect you’re hungry. Dinner’s almost ready. We hoped the train wasn’t going to be late and took a chance on that. So … in half an hour? Lilias can show you to your room and Daisy will bring up some hot water.”

“Thank you. That would be lovely,” I said. “One gets grimy travelling.”

I felt at home immediately. I had slipped into a new role. I must get accustomed to my new name, and when I had I should be able to believe I really had stepped away from the past.

We went into a hall. I noticed the highly polished furniture; on a hall table was a large bowl of flowers, colours exquisitely blended and beautifully arranged.

Lilias noticed my glance. “That’s Jane,” she said. “She fills the house with flowers.”

“They are so lovely,” I said. “Oh, Lilias … I am going to be happy here.”

“We are going to do our best to make you,” replied Lilias.

I followed her up the staircase to a landing.

“We’ve put you on the first floor,” said Lilias. “You have to mind your head when you enter some of these rooms. I think people must have been smaller at the time places like this were built.” She opened the door of a room and I followed her in. It was large but rather dark and there was only one window and that was leaded. There was a bed in one corner, and a dressing table and a mirror and a wash hand stand. A large cupboard almost filled one wall.