“Why is this house falling down like this?” I asked him.

“Cos it’s haunted.”

“Why is it haunted?”

“Cos there’s a ghost. That’s why.”

“Why are there ghosts here?”

“They came to do the haunting, of course.”

I calculated how old they were. The elder looked about eight, the other a year or so younger. They would have been babies or as yet unborn when I had left here.

“Did you know the people who lived here?” I asked.

“Only ghosts.”

I could see I was not going to learn much from them.

“We’re not supposed to come here,” volunteered the younger one.

“He dared me to,” said the elder.

“My mother says the house could fall down on you. Then you’d be buried with the ghosts.”

“It’s unsafe,” said the other.

“They’re always saying they’re going to pull it down.”

“And build another house?” I asked.

“Who’d want to live here?”

“Why not?”

The boys looked at me in amazement, and the elder said:

“It’s haunted, that’s why.”

I felt I owed them a reason for my being here, and I said:

“I was passing … and it looked interesting.”

“We’ve got to go home now. It’s dinner-time and our mum don’t half go off if we’re late.” He gave me a disappointed look.

“I thought you’d be a ghost, not just an ordinary person.”

“You’re not sorry,” said the other.

“You’re glad. You wasn’t half frightened.”

“I wasn’t!”

“Yes, you were.”

They started downstairs, their voices echoing through the house.

“I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were.”

I looked out of the window and saw them running across the lawn.

Then slowly I made my way downstairs and out of the house.

I stood looking over the common. No one was about.

The experience had disturbed me. I could not rid myself of the feeling that there was something eerie and menacing about the place. I was glad to be out of it. I did not want to go there again. I wanted to get right away and forget it all.

I should probe no more. I expected the Grange was still there but I was not going to look.

I made my way back down the hill into the town. I would have a light meal at the Bald-Faced Stag, and then go to the station and back to London.

I was about to cross the road to the inn when a rider came along. His horse was rather frisky and, as I was about to step out into the road, it reared up on its hind legs, whinnying. A man, who was also about to cross, halted and stood beside me. We both watched the horse and rider.

“Rather tricky,” said the man to me. There was something familiar about his voice.

I turned to look at him and I knew at once. It was Lucian Crompton.

“Lucian!” I cried.

He stared at me in surprise and then I saw recognition in his eyes.

“Why … it’s Carmel!”

We stood gazing at each other for a few moments. Then he said: “Well, this is a surprise. Where have you sprung from, after all this time?”

“I’m here for the day … from London. In fact, from Australia.”

“Really! And we meet like this! What luck!”

It came flooding back again. This was the pleasant part of the memory.

I was remembering how he had found my pendant and had it repaired, how he had always been kind to the outsider.

Our pleasure in the encounter was undoubtedly mutual.

“We must have a talk,” he said.

“What are your plans? You are here for the day, you said.” He looked at his watch.

“It’s just about lunch-time for me. What about you?”

“I was going to have something light and then get the train back.”

“Why don’t we have lunch together? I want to hear what you’ve been doing all this time.”

The man with the horse had gone on now and we crossed the road. Lucian led the way to the Bald-Faced Stag.

He was well known there and a table for two was found for us.

Now that I was seated opposite him I could see that he had changed. He was no longer the lighthearted boy I had known. When he was not smiling, there was a vaguely strained look about him. I calculated he must be about twenty-five or -six years old. He looked older. He had certainly changed. I supposed I had too.

As though to follow my thoughts, he said: “You haven’t changed much, Carmel. Just grown taller. It was only for the first moment that I did not know you.”

“Tell me what has been happening to you.”

“My father died three years ago … unexpectedly. He had a heart attack. That meant I had to take over the estate.”

“I suppose that keeps you occupied.”

He nodded.

“I’m sorry about your father,” I said.

“It must have been a great shock. And your mother?”

“She’s well. Camilla married and went to live in the Midlands. She has a little boy now.” He paused and hurried on.

“I have a daughter. She is two years old.”

“Oh, so you are married.”

“Was,” he said.

“Oh … I’m sorry.”

“My wife died. It was when the child was born.”

I thought: No wonder he has changed, with the death of his father . the death of his wife.

“And you … are you married?” he asked.

“Oh no. I left school not very long ago.”

Tell me about yourself. You went away so suddenly. Everything broke up, didn’t it? “

“Did you know my father was Captain Sinclair?”

“I did hear a rumour of it.”

“I went away with him. His ship was based mainly in Australia and he thought it best, in the circumstances, for me to stay there.”

“Yes, I suppose it was.”

“So I stayed … and then … he was drowned. He went down with his ship.”

He did not know this and I told him as briefly as I could, but it was impossible to hide my emotion.

“You were very fond of him, I remember. It must have been terrible for you.” He smiled at me with a tenderness that was touching. These things happen. One has to accept them. There is nothing else to do, is there? “

He reminded me then so much of those days when he had understood how I felt as the one who did not belong.

“Everything happened so suddenly,” I said.

“It seems unreal now. I went to Australia with my father and on the way he told me I was his daughter. It was like a dream come true.”

“You were happy in Australia?”

“Oh yes, very.”

“And you have been there all these years? And now you’ve come to visit the old home.”

“I was horrified when I saw Commonwood House. It really was such a pleasant place. I thought they would have sold it.”

They tried to, but nobody would buy it. “

“Why not?”

“A house where a murder has been committed?”

“A murder?”

He looked at me incredulously.

“Didn’t you know? The papers were full of it. People could talk of little else at one time. Even now, you hear an occasional reference to it. “

“Murder?” I repeated.

“Of course, you went away before it started to come out. Perhaps that was why your father … Oh yes, I expect that was the idea. It wouldn’t have been reported in the Australian papers.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“Well, there was the trial and things were revealed. Then they couldn’t sell the house. Everyone knew what had happened there.

People get superstitious. I’m not surprised they couldn’t sell it. Who wants to buy a house which belongs to a man who has been hanged for murder? “

I felt numb with shock.

Lucian went on: “So you did not know that Dr. Marline was found guilty?

The governess was deeply involved, but she got off. She was going to have a child. Some people thought that helped her. But there wasn’t enough evidence against her. There was some person . a writer or some thing . who took it up and campaigned for her release. “

I murmured: “Dr. Marline. Miss Carson. It’s hard to believe. Dr. Marline would never have murdered anyone … not even Mrs. Marline.”

“He had his supporters. He had a reputation for caring and great concern for his patients, and many of them thought highly of him.” He looked at me with an odd expression, and I thought for a moment he wanted me to accept the doctor’s guilt.

“He had a motive,” he went on.

“His wife was giving him a bad time and he wanted to marry Miss Carson who was to have his child. There couldn’t have been a stronger motive.”

“I still don’t believe it. Miss Carson was such a good person. We all loved her. She did more for Adeline than anyone. People like that can’t commit murder.”

“People can be goaded too far. That must have happened in the Marlines’ case. It must.”

“I wish I hadn’t discovered all this. I just thought the doctor died and the family dispersed. All these years, I have known nothing about this.”

“Your father obviously thought it better that you did not know.”

“You must have been here when it was all happening.”

“I was away at school. Henry left and went to his aunt. I didn’t know anything about it until it was all over. Then the doctor was dead, the house empty and the rest of them gone.”

We were silent for a while, after which he said: “I think it was wise of your father to do what he did. If you had not come back, you need never have known about it. I can see it has upset you. I am sure he would have realized how you would feel.”

“I really belong to the family,” I said.

“Mrs. Marline was my father’s sister … my aunt, in fact. My father must have thought it better that I should not know, as I was connected with them.”

“I am sure that is what he had in mind. I am sorry this has depressed you. This should have been a pleasant reunion of old friends.”

“I am so pleased to see you again, Lucian.”

“And I you. Tell me about Australia.”

Over sherry trifle and coffee we talked, but my thoughts were really with the Marline tragedy. I felt sure it was on Lucian’s mind too.

I told him about Elsie and her goodness to me; and how Toby had died and she had married her good friend Joe Lester, and how relieved that had made me, because it had enabled me to leave her with a good conscience.

“You don’t plan to go back, then?” he said.

“Well, not at the moment. Later perhaps.”

“Is there anything … anyone … you want to go back for?”

“My friend Gertie is here. I suppose we are rather like sisters. We went to school together. I’m quite friendly with her brother. Well, with all the family really. We all came out to Australia together. They were emigrating. “

I told him something about the life out there and how the Formans had bought a property not far from Sydney, and including an account of the sundowner’s visit and its consequences.

He was very interested and wanted to hear more about James.

“He’s ambitious. He plans on making a fortune out of opals … or perhaps he’ll turn to gold. But I think opals seem to fascinate him.

There’s some place called Lightning Ridge, where there have been some exciting finds. According to James, the best black opals in the world are to be found there. “

Lucian was staring into his coffee cup.

He said slowly: “A fascinating stone, the opal. They interested me at one time. The colours are so beautiful.”

“There is a certain superstition about them, I believe. They are said to be unlucky.”

“That grew up because they break easily,” said Lucian.

“It’s absurd to think a stone can be unlucky.”

“Of course,” he said vehemently.

I was suddenly transported back to Commonwood House in my thoughts.

That was not surprising. Scenes from the past had so often intruded, and now, here I was, not far from the place where it all happened. I was seeing poor Adeline sitting on the floor in her mother’s bedroom, with the contents of the drawer which she had pulled out all around her.

“I wanted to show Lucian the opal ring …”

“What’s the matter?” said Lucian.

“Oh … I was just thinking. I have never really forgotten what happened at Commonwood House. It keeps coming back to me. There was a scene in the house just before Mrs. Marline died. You were there. You had been talking about opals. You and Henry went off somewhere and

Adeline poor Adeline went to her mother’s bedroom to look for the opal she had. She wanted to show it to you. She pulled out the drawer. There was this scene.”

Lucian was sitting back in his chair, his eyes cast down.