One took and one paid. One must never grudge the price. My father had taken a certain way of life which had denied him his patrimony, an old house full of family tradition. My grandfather had taken his own way. He might make others dance to his tune but he was bereft of love. I would not have been my grandfather for all the power in the world.

It was about eleven o'clock when I heard the commotion below. My heart beat so violently that it shook my entire frame. There had been no sign of Francine. She was to have come below my window, and I was to be at my post—which I was. But there was no Francine and surely eleven o'clock was too early to leave a ball.

I went to my door and listened. I could hear my grandfather's voice. "Disgraceful ... fornicating ... sinful ... Go to your room. I shall deal with this as you deserve. I will see you in the morning. You are disgusting. I could not be­lieve my eyes... . Under my roof ... caught ... in flagrante delicto."

Someone was moving towards the stairs. I hastily shut my door and leaned against it, waiting. I expected Francine to burst in at any moment.

Nothing happened. Where was she? He had said, "Go to your room." But she did not come and I could not understand what it meant.

I was back at the window. All was quiet down there. I went to my door and listened. There were steps on the stairs. That was my grandfather going to his room.

I was bewildered and dreadfully afraid.

It was about half an hour later when there was a gentle knock on my door. I ran to it and Daisy almost fell into the room. Her hair was tousled and her eyes wide.

"It's that Tom," she said. "That's who it was. He told on us.

"Was it you whom my grandfather was talking to?"

She nodded.

"Oh, Daisy. What happened?"

"We was caught—Hans and me—in the old bone-yard. I always liked it there. It's soft on the grass and it's life, ain't it... life among death."

"You're crazy. I thought it was Francine. Come and sit by the window. I must keep watch for her. She'll still be at the ball."

"For a long time, I reckon."

"Tell me what happened with you."

"Hans said he could slip away at half past ten and I said I'd be near Richard Jones. He had three wives and buried them all with him. It's a lovely stone he had done for himself and the three of them. You can lean against it and there's a beautiful guardian angel over it. It makes you feel kind of safe and happy. Tom liked it there too."

"What were you doing?"

"The usual." She smiled at the recollection. "There's something about Hans, you know. Of course, Tom was hopping mad. Hans wrote a note saying he'd be there by Richard Jones and I lost the note. Tom must have got his hands on it. I never thought he'd tell like that—but you know how it is with jealousy. But you wouldn't, of course, being so young. Sometimes I forget how young you are, Miss Pip. What with me and your sister ... well, we're sort of bringing you up fast. So there we were. Your grandfather must have seen us meet. Must have been hiding there. I bet it was behind Thomas Ardley. I never liked that stone. It always gave me the creeps. Then he ups and catches us ... right in the act ... you might say. He called out to us and there was I with my bodice open and half out of my skirt. And Hans ... well. Your grandfather kept saying, 'And in such a place.' Then he took me by the arm and dragged me back. You must have heard him in the hall. 'Up to your room,' he says. 'I'll deal with you in the morning.' It'll be out for me. What'll Ma say? She was dead set on me getting this place and settling down respectable."

"You'll never be respectable, Daisy."

"I reckon you're right," she admitted ruefully. "But I'll be out tomorrow. It'll be the tin box on my shoulder and home to Ma. She'll miss the money. Still, perhaps I'll get a place at the Grange. Hans could speak for me."

We sat on at the window. Midnight struck on the old church clock. I felt wide awake. Daisy would certainly be dismissed. I tried to imagine what it would be like without her, for she had played a big part in our lives.

It was nearly two o'clock when Francine came in. I sped down and drew back the heavy bolt. She was starry-eyed, still living in a wonderful dream as we tiptoed back to our room. Daisy was still there and we hastily told Francine what had happened.

"Daisy, you idiot!" she cried.

"I know," replied Daisy. "But I'll be all right. I'll go and see Hans."

"What was the ball like?" I asked.

She clasped her hands and her ecstatic expression told us all. It had been wonderful. She had danced with the Baron all the evening. Everyone had been charmed by her. They had all been foreigners, of course. "It might have been that the ball was given in my honour. That was how it felt. And the Baron Rudolph ... he is perfection. Everything I ever dreamed a man should be."

"Everything that Cousin Arthur is not," I added, and immediately wished I hadn't mentioned him because I feared his name would break the spell.

But it didn't. She scarcely noticed. She was bemused. It was no use trying to talk to her that night.

I told Daisy she should go to her room and get a little sleep. She must remember the ordeal she would have to face the next day. Reluctantly she went and Francine undressed slowly.

"It is something I shall never forget," she said. "No, no matter what happens. He wanted to bring me home so I had to explain and he took me to the Emms' cottage and waited outside while I changed, and when I came out in my old serge he was still there. He brought me right to the edge of the lawn. I told him everything ... about Grandfather and Cousin Arthur. He was very understanding."

"It's over now, Francine," I said.

"No," she answered. "It's only just beginning."

The next morning we were all assembled in the chapel for the solemn denunciation. Francine and I sat together in the front row with Aunt Grace. The glow was still on my sister. I could see that, in her thoughts, she was still at the ball. Our grandfather came in with Cousin Arthur and I noticed a look of suppressed excitement in the former's face as though this was not entirely distasteful to him.

He stood up in the pulpit after Cousin Arthur had taken his seat beside Francine. She moved a little closer to me as he did so and I wondered whether he noticed.

Grandfather lifted his hand and said, "This is an occasion of great sorrow to me. I am faced with a situation which fills me with disgust and humiliation. One of my servants—one whom I had harboured under my roof—has behaved in such a manner as to bring disgrace to this house. I cannot express my horror at my discovery."

Yet you are relishing that horror, Grandfather, I thought.

"This wanton creature has behaved in such a manner as decency forbids me to describe. She has been caught in the very act. Feeling it my duty, I forced myself to witness her depravity. She was in my care and I could not believe that a servant of mine could be guilty of such an act. I had to see it with my own eyes. Now she will stand before us all in her sinfulness. Yet I am going to ask God to show mercy to her, to give her an opportunity to repent."

"Magnanimous of him," Francine whispered.

"Let her be brought in," he called.

Mrs. Greaves came in with Daisy, who was wearing a coat over her dark dress, which was not the uniform provided to all the Greystone servants.

"Come here, girl," said my Grandfather. "Let all see you that they may learn the lesson of your folly."

Daisy came forward. She was pale and less sure of herself than I had ever seen her before—slightly defiant, not the chirpy Daisy we knew so well.

"This creature," went on our grandfather, "is so deeply immersed in depravity that not only does she sin but she must do it in a holy place. It may well be that there will be a result of last night's work. The evil that we do lives on to the third and fourth generation. I am going to ask you all to get down on your knees and pray for the soul of this sinner. There is yet time for her to repent her evil ways. I pray God she will do so."

Our grandfather's eyes were glistening as he looked at Daisy and I believe he was imagining her in that position in which he had caught her and revelling in the memory in some strange way. I wondered if he was pleased when people committed sins because it made him appear all the more virtuous. But this was a particular sort of sin which had this effect on him. It was different when someone was caught stealing. One of the men had been dismissed for that and there had not been this ceremony in the chapel. This was like the Puritans I had read about. I wondered he didn't want Daisy to have a scarlet letter sewn on her bodice.

Cousin Arthur preached a short sermon about the wages of sin and then we prayed again, and all the time Daisy was standing there looking rather bewildered. I wanted to go to her and put my arms about her and tell her that whatever she had done in the churchyard wasn't half as bad as what my grandfather was doing to her now.

At length the ceremony was over. My grandfather then said, "Take your box, girl, and go. Never let us see your face here again!"

Francine and I went into the schoolroom. Miss Elton was there, pale and silent.

Francine suddenly burst out, "I hate him. He's a wicked old man. I will not stay here."

She was close to tears and we gripped each other's hands tightly. I knew I would never forget that horrible scene in the chapel. Miss Elton did not reprove us. She too had been shaken by what she had seen.

Later that day Francine said to me, "I'm going to see Daisy. Are you coming?"

"Of course," I replied, and we made our way to the cottage. Mrs. Emms was there and as usual there were several children running in and out. Daisy was not at home.

"She's up at the Grange," Mrs. Emms told us, "seeing that Hans." Mrs. Emms nodded grimly. "So she's out of the Manor. I thought at first it was all along of you and that ball dress."

"Our grandfather doesn't know anything about that," said Francine.

Mrs. Emms winked. "It would be a case of God 'elp us all if he ever did."

"Somehow now I don't care about him. I hated him this morning ... and that smug Arthur. I hate Greystone. I want to get away from it."

"My poor Daise. And all for having a bit of fun in the graveyard. She's not the first, I shouldn't wonder."

"We're worried about Daisy. What will she do?"

"She'll find something. Always able to look after herself, our Daise."

"Do you think she'll be back soon?"

"Who's to say? Her own mistress now, she is."

"Will you tell her we called?" said Francine. "Tell her we hated it all as much as she did. Tell her we thought it was horrible."

"I'll tell her that, Miss. She thinks a powerful lot of you two young ladies."

As we were about to go, Daisy herself came in. She looked quite different from the dejected sinner of the chapel. We flew at her and hugged her. She looked very pleased and Mrs. Emms said, "Well, fancy that."

"Daisy," cried Francine, "we were so worried about you."

"No need," cried Daisy triumphantly. "I've already got myself a situation."

"No!" we cried together.

"Oh yes, Miss. Well, I had half a promise of it before. Hans says, 'Why don't you come up the Grange? I'll speak for you.' Well, there I am. And I've seen the chef there. A very important gentleman—all twirling moustache and fat cheeks. He gave me a pat and said, 'Start tomorrow.' Kitchen maid! And what a kitchen."

"It's wonderful!" I cried.

Mrs. Emms sat down, legs apart, a hand on each plump knee.  She was nodding her head sagely.  "What 'appens when they go?" she asked. "They never stay more than a few months."

"Hans says he reckons I could go with them." The gaiety of the last few moments had faded. We were all thinking of when they were going. Mrs. Emms would not want to lose Daisy. Nor should we. But Francine quite clearly found the prospect of their leaving so depressing that she could not bear to think of it.

Events moved quickly after that. The date of our house party was announced. It was to be the first week in September. Guests would arrive on the Monday; Francine's seventeenth birthday was on the Tuesday; there would be another day of entertainment and the guests would leave on the Thursday.

Jenny Brakes came to the house and made up the taffeta for Francine. It was in a dark red colour; I was to have dark blue—a nice, serviceable colour, said Aunt Grace. Poor Jenny Brakes was a little embarrassed; her recent sin in making the blue chiffon sat heavily upon her, and in view of what had happened to Daisy Emms she was very uneasy. Making up a dress illicitly could not be as great a sin as fornication in a churchyard, but my tyrannical grandfather was greatly feared. Francine pointed out that it would have been the same if Daisy had not had a family nearby to go to; she would have been turned out just the same. "He has no pity," she said. "If that is being a good man, then God preserve me from them."