"You are certainly young," he agreed. "And of course you are not exactly fond of Cousin Arthur."

"I hate Cousin Arthur."

"Why?"

"If you saw him you would understand. Francine hated him. She was to marry him. She was the elder, you see, but she married Rudolph. They did marry, I know they did."

"Let us consider your problem. It really is of the greater importance."

"When I am seventeen my grandfather wants me to marry Cousin Arthur, and I shall soon be seventeen. Then it will be a case of 'Marry Arthur or get out.' I'd like to get out, but where would I go? I shall have to take a post. If only I were say—two years older ... You see what I mean?"

"I do indeed."

"My grandmother was kind and good and understanding. I could talk to her. Now there is no-one."

"Well, I'm here," he said.

"You!"

"Yes. My poor little girl, I don't like to see you unhappy. I like you full of fire raging against me ... yes. Though I should prefer to see you tender, perhaps. But I do not like to see you in despair."

"I am in despair. I wanted to talk to my grandmother. I wanted to tell her about the register. There is no-one to talk to now. I am all alone."

He put his arms round me and held me tightly. He rocked me gently and kissed my forehead, the tip of my nose and then my lips. I was almost happy in those moments.

I drew back from him a little, afraid of my emotions. It was extraordinary that I could feel thus towards someone who had just proved me wrong on a matter so near my heart.

I was confused, not knowing which way to turn.

He said gently, "You are not alone, you know. I am here. I am your friend."

"My friend!" I cried. "Why, you have tried to destroy my belief in my sanity."

"You are not being fair. All I did was confront you with the truth. The truth must always be looked at ... straight in the face ... even when it is unpleasant."

"That was not the truth. There's some explanation. I wish I knew what it was."

"I can tell you this, my dear Philippa. You are so concerned with the past that you are letting the dangers of the present creep up on you. What are you going to do about Cousin Arthur?"

"I will never marry him."

"Then ... when your grandfather turns you out ... what then?"

"While I have been sitting here it has occurred to me that my grandmother's death will delay matters a little. There could not be a wedding following so close on a funeral, could there? My grandfather would always observe the conventions."

"So you think the evil day is postponed."

"It will give me time to find a way out. My Aunt Grace would help me. She escaped from Greystone Manor and is very happy now. Perhaps I could stay a while at the vicarage."

"A ray of hope," he said. "And how do you think you will enjoy going into some strange household with the status of a servant after the way in which you have lived?"

"I have not lived so happily at Greystone Manor. I have always felt something of a captive here. Francine felt it too. So I have not such a glorious past to look back on. Besides, I might be a governess. They are not servants ... exactly."

"Somewhere in between," he said. "Poor, poor Philippa. It's a grim prospect which lies before you."

I shivered and he held me closer.

"I have to tell you," he went on, "that I am leaving England tomorrow."

I was completely shattered and unable to speak. I just stared wretchedly ahead of me. Everyone was going. I should be left to the mercy of my grandfather and Cousin Arthur.

"Do I discern that you are a little sorry that I am going?"

"It has been comforting talking to you."

"And I am forgiven for the part I played in that disastrous register affair?"

"It wasn't your fault. I don't blame you."

"I thought you hated me for it."

"I am not quite as foolish as that."

"And you promise me that you are going to forget it? You are going to stop looking back?"

"I couldn't stop myself wanting to know. She is my sister."

"I know. I understand perfectly. Dear Philippa, don't despair. Something will turn up for you. I'm sorry I have to go. It's vital that I should."

"I suppose you have been called back by your employers?"

"That's the idea. But I have one more day. We'll meet tomorrow. I'm going to try to come up with a solution to your troubles."

"How could you possibly do that?"

"I'm something of a magician," he said. "Didn't you guess that? I'm not quite what I seem?"

I gave a forced laugh. I was really miserable because he was going and I did not want him to know how deeply I felt about it.

"I'm going to save you from the arms of Cousin Arthur, Philippa ... if you'll let me."

"I don't think you have enough magic for that."

"We'll see. Will you trust me?" He rose to his feet. "I have to go now."

He held out a hand and pulled me up. We stood close to each other. Then his arms were round me. His kisses had changed. They were bewildering, a little frightening, and I wanted them to go on.

When he released me he was laughing. "I think you are a little more kindly disposed towards me now," he said.

"I don't know what I feel... ."

"There is a little time left to us," he replied. "Will you trust me?"

"What a strange question. Should I?"

"No," he answered. "Never trust anyone. Particularly people you know nothing about."

"You are warning me?"

He nodded. "Preparing you, perhaps."

"You do sound mysterious. At one moment you are going to help me and the next you are warning me against you."

"Life is full of contradictions. Will you meet me here tomorrow? I may have a solution. It will of course depend on you."

"I will be here tomorrow."

He took my chin in his hands and said: "Nil desperandum." Then he kissed me lightly and walked with me to the edge of the wood where we parted.

I went into the house past the chamber of death up to my bedroom and threw myself on Francine's bed, which seemed to bring her nearer to me.

There was no doubt about it. Conrad excited me, and I wanted to be with him. When I was, I could forget almost everything else.

I could not bear to be in that house of death and yet the sense of loneliness had lifted a little. Conrad would meet me tomorrow and he had said he would find a solution. I could not believe this was possible and yet it was a comforting thought. Being with him was a sort of opiate and I was in such a desperate state that I was ready to grasp at anything.

I could not endure to stay in the house so I went out into the garden, and while I was there one of the Emms boys came to me.

He said: "I was told to give you this when no one was looking, Miss."

I seized it.

"Who ... ?" I began.

"From the Grange, Miss."

"Thank you," I said.

I slit the envelope and took out a thick white paper with a golden crest at the top. Grange paper, I thought; and then I was reading what had been written.

Philippa,

I have to leave early tomorrow morning. I must see you before I go. Please come this evening, can you, at ten o'clock. I'll be waiting for you in the Grange shrubbery.

C.

My hands were trembling. So he was going tomorrow. He had said he would find a solution for me. Could it be possible?

I should have to slip out of the house and leave the door unlocked. No. That might be discovered. There was a window in the courtyard which was low. If I left that unlatched I could easily get through it ... just in case when I returned the door had been locked.

I must see him.

I don't know how I lived through the rest of that day. I pleaded a headache and did not join my grandfather and cousin for dinner. It seemed a reasonable enough excuse, for the normal routine of the household was naturally somewhat disrupted on account of my grandmother's death and the preparations for the funeral.

I had tested the courtyard window. People rarely went past it, so it should be safe enough.

At a quarter to ten I was on my way. He was waiting for me in the shrubbery and when he saw me he caught me in his arms and held me against him.

"We'll go into the house," he said.

"Should we?" I asked.

"Why not?"

"It isn't your house. You're only the equerry."

"Shall we say I'm in charge. Come along."

We walked into the Grange, and as we passed through the hall I looked up anxiously at the high holes in the wall which I knew could be peered through in the solarium.

"No one will see us," he whispered. "They are all asleep. They have had a busy day preparing for departure."

"Are they all going tomorrow?"

"They'll be leaving in a day or so."

We went up the stairs. "Where are we going?" I asked. "To the Weinzimmer?"

"You'll see."

He threw open a door and we entered a room in which a fire was burning. It was a large room with heavy velvet curtains. I noticed the alcove in which was a four-poster bed.

"Whose room is this?" I asked quickly.

"Mine," he answered. "We're safe here."

"I don't understand."

"You will. Come and sit down. I have some excellent wine here. I want you to try it."

"I know nothing of wine."

"Surely you drink it at Greystone Manor?"

"My grandfather always decides what it shall be and everyone else has to drink it and like it."

"A despot, your grandfather."

"What is it you have to say to me?"

"I am going away. I thought I had to see you."

"Yes," I said, "you told me."

He took my hand and, sitting down in a large thronelike chair, he drew me down to him so that I was sitting on his knees.

"You should not be afraid," he said quietly. "There is nothing to fear. Your welfare will be my greatest concern from now on."

"You say the most extraordinary things. I thought I had come here to say goodbye to you."

"I am hoping you won't do that."

"How could it be otherwise?"

"The difficulties are not insurmountable."

His hands were on my neck, caressing it gently. I was beginning to feel that I wanted to stay in this room forever.

"How do you feel about me?" he asked.

I tried to free myself from his searching hands.

"We hardly know each other," I stammered. "You're not ... English."

"Is that a great handicap?"

"Of course not, but it means—"

"What?"

"That we probably think differently about everything. I would rather sit on a chair and hear what it is you have to say to me."

"But I would rather you stayed here ... near me. Philippa, you must know that I am falling in love with you."

I felt dizzy with sudden happiness, as though I were slipping into a deep pool of contentment, but I was conscious of warning voices within me. It was a dangerous pool.

"Philippa," he went on. "It's rather a dignified name." He repeated it. "Philippa."

I said, "My family always called me Pippa."

"Pippa. Short for Philippa. I like it. It recalls a poem called 'Pippa's Song' ... or 'Pippa Passes.' You see, I may not be English but I was educated here. I know my Browning. 'God's in his Heaven—All's right with the world.' That's Pippa's Song. Is it true for you?"

"You know very well that it is far from being' so."

"So perhaps I could make it so. I should be very happy if I could. 'All's right with the world.' I want you to tell me that that is the case."

"Yet you are going away and I shall not see you after tonight."

"That is what I have to talk to you about, because whether you continue to see me or not depends on you."

"I don't understand you."

"It's simple. I could take you with me."

"Take me to—"

"That's right. Take you back with me."

"How could that possibly be?"

"Quite easily. We meet tomorrow at the station. We do not go to Dover as we did before. We go to London and from there to Harwich. We take ship and after our journey across the sea we take another train and in due course we come to my home. What do you say?"

"You are teasing me."

"I swear I'm not. I want you with me. Don't you understand I have fallen in love with you?"

"But... how could I possibly come with you?"