"I thought you had. I told Sir Matthew that you weren't feeling well. He looked quite concerned."

"Thank you, Amy."

"Would you like something brought up, miss?"

"Nothing thanks. I'll get up later."

Twenty more minutes to ten o'clock. Yes, it was too late. I could never get there in time. I pictured him at the station, waiting for me, hoping, longing perhaps. He was fond of me. I was sure of that.

And when the train left and I had not joined him? Perhaps he would shrug his shoulders. "A pity," he would say. "I liked her. I could have enjoyed teaching her to be a woman. But she did not come. She lacked the courage. She's a conventional little mouse, that's all. It is a pity—but that is how it is."

All I would be to him was an episode in his life.

As equerry to the Grand Duke or the Margrave or something like that he would live a romantic life among the mountains, attending ceremonial occasions in some old schloss.

I wanted to be with him so much.                        

Ten o'clock struck stridently, it seemed, triumphantly. Too late. Virtue had prevailed.

I went through the day in a bemused state. At dinner my grandfather was quite solicitous and I had never known him to be so gracious before. He enquired about my headache and said he was glad to see that I had obviously recovered. After dinner he would like a word with me in his study.

Oddly enough my thoughts were so very much with Conrad that it did not immediately occur to me that the moment I had been dreading for so long had come, and even when he received me in the study as graciously as he had at dinner, I did not think of it. He was smiling kindly, not dreaming for a moment that he would find any obstruction to his plans.

He stood up, his hands in his pockets rather as though he were addressing a public meeting.

"This house is sadly bereaved," he said. "Your poor grandmother lies in her coffin and there is a great sadness on us all. But she would be the last to expect life to stand still merely because she had left it. She would be the first to wish us to go on with our lives and perhaps bring a little lightness into the gloom which is so dark at this time."

I was scarcely listening to him. My thoughts were still with Conrad.

"I had planned a great celebration for your seventeenth birthday, your passing into womanhood."

I wanted to shout: I am already there, Grandfather. I spent a glorious night in the Grange with the most wonderful lover, and now he has gone and I never felt so desolate in my life ... not even when Francine went.

"That will not be seemly in the circumstances," my grandfather was going on. "Your grandmother's death"—he sounded a little peevish as though it were most incon­siderate of her to die at such a time—"yes, your grandmother's death rather precludes that. Still, I thought on the occasion we would have a dinner party with friends ... and the announcement could be made then."

"The announcement!"

"You know what my wishes are for you and your Cousin Arthur. His coincide with mine as I am sure yours will. I see no reason for a delay just because we have a death in the family. Of course the ceremonies will have to be conducted more quietly than I had at first thought... but there is no reason why we should delay. We shall announce the engagement on your seventeenth birthday. I always believed long engagements were a mistake. You can be married within three months, say. That will give everyone the time they need for preparations."

I heard myself speaking then and it was as though my voice was disembodied and didn't belong to me.

"You are making a mistake, Grandfather, if you think I am going to marry Cousin Arthur."

"What?" he cried.

"I said I have no intention of marrying Cousin Arthur."

"You have gone mad."

"No. I never intended to marry him any more than my sister did."

"Don't talk about your sister to me. She was a harlot and we are well rid of her. I should not have wished her to be the mother of my heirs."

"She was no harlot," I retorted vehemently. "She was a woman who would not be forced into marriage ... any more than I will."

"I tell you," he cried, and he was so incensed that he was shouting at me, "you will do as I say or you will not continue to live under my roof."

"Then if that is so," I said wearily, "I must leave here."

"All this time I have nurtured a viper in my bosom!"

I could not stop myself laughing hysterically. The cliche hardly fitted the case and the idea of my grandfather nursing anything in his bosom seemed hilariously funny.

"You brazen girl," he shouted. "How dare you! I think you have taken leave of your senses. Let me tell you you will regret this. I had made plans for you. I had left you well provided for in my will when you married Arthur. I shall send for my lawyers tomorrow morning. Not a penny shall you have. You are throwing away everything, do you understand? This house ... a fine husband ..."

"Not everything, Grandfather," I said. "I shall have my freedom."

"Freedom? Freedom to do what? Starve? Or take some menial post. For that is the choice you will have, my girl. You will not stay under my roof, living a life of luxury. I had brought you here from a savage place ... I have educated you ... fed you ..."

"I am your granddaughter, remember."

"It is something I wish to forget." His voice was raised and I wondered who was listening. I was sure the servants could hear it all."

His mood changed suddenly. He was almost placating. "Now perhaps you have not given enough thought to this prospect ... a glorious one. Perhaps you have spoken rather hastily... ."

"No," I said firmly. "That is not so. I have known what was in your mind and have given much thought to the matter. In no circumstances will I marry Cousin Arthur."

"Get out!" he cried. "Get out ... before I do you an injury. You will leave here tomorrow. I shall see my lawyer at once to make sure that you never benefit from anything of mine ... ever. You will be penniless ... penniless I tell you. I shall make sure of that."

I turned to the door and went out, my head high, my eyes blazing. As I came into the corridor I heard a scuffle and a rustling so I knew that we had been overheard.

I went to the stairs and mounted them. So it had come. Everything was happening at once. I was alone and tomorrow I should be homeless. I had no notion of where I should go or what I should do.

I opened the door of the room next to my grandfather's bedroom and in which the body of my grandmother lay in her coffin. The candles had been freshly lighted. They would all be replenished before the household retired and would burn through the night.

I stood on the threshold and looked at that peaceful face and I murmured: "Oh, Grandmother dear, why did you not live to talk to me, to advise me what to do? Why did you leave me alone and desolate? Help me. Please help me. Tell me what I should do."

How still it was in that room, and yet somehow I did feel a certain peace. I could almost believe that the cold lips smiled at me reassuringly.

I awoke from my sleep. It was dark and I wondered what had awakened me. When I had retired for the night I had lain awake for a long time wondering what the next day would bring, and where I should go when I left Greystone Manor. Then, from very exhaustion, I must have fallen into a heavy sleep.

Now I sat up in bed. I could smell something strange and I heard a sound which I did not immediately recognize.

I listened intently—and then I was out of bed.

It was fire!

I thrust my feet into my slippers and ran.

My grandfather's room was at the end of the corridor and next to it was that one in which my grandmother had lain in her coffin. Then as I stood there I saw the tongue of flame creeping along the top of the door.

"Fire!" I shouted. "Fire!"

I ran towards my grandfather's room and as I did so Cousin Arthur appeared.

"What is it?" he cried; and then, realizing: "Oh—God help us."

"There is a fire in my grandfather's room," I called to him.

By this time several of the servants were on the scene. Cousin Arthur had opened the door of my grandfather's room and as he did so the flames burst out.

"Give the alarm!" shouted Cousin Arthur. "Keep away from the room. It's ablaze. The room next to it too."

One of the footmen was already making his way through the smoke and flames. He had disappeared into my grandfather's room and when he came out he was dragging my grandfather along the floor.

Cousin Arthur was calling out: "Get water ... quickly. Douse the fire. The whole place will be ablaze. These timbers are as dry as straw."

Everyone was rushing about. I went over to Cousin Arthur, who was leaning over my grandfather.

"Send one of the servants for the doctor—quickly," he said.

I ran downstairs and found one of the grooms who had heard the commotion and seen the fire from his rooms over the stables.

He was off without a word and I went back again. There was water everywhere and the smoke was choking me, but I could see that they were getting the fire under control.

It appeared to have started in the room in which my grandmother lay.

Cousin Arthur said: "I never thought it safe to have those candles burning all night."

It was a shock to see my grandfather lying in the corridor, a pillow under his head and blankets covering him. He looked quite unlike the man who a few hours before had thundered at me in his study; he looked forlorn, vulnerable, with his beard completely burned and burns on what I could see of his face and neck. He must be in terrible pain, I thought, but no sound came from him.

When the doctor arrived I was still standing there. The fire had been put out and the danger was past.

The doctor took one look at my grandfather and said, "Sir Matthew is dead."

A strange night ... with the smell of the fumes still in my nostrils and my grandfather, who but a short time before had been screaming abuse at me—dead.

I try to piece together the events of that night but it is. not easy.

I remember Cousin Arthur in a long brown dressing gown offering me something to drink. He seemed kinder than he ever had before, less self-righteous, more humane. He was clearly very shaken by what had happened. His benefactor was dead. He looked as if he couldn't believe it.

"You must not upset yourself, Philippa," he said. "I know you had a bit of trouble with him tonight."

I was silent.

He patted my hand. "Don't fret," he said. "I understand."

The doctor was looking grave. He wanted to have a few words with Cousin Arthur. He was disconcerted and uneasy. He did not think my grandfather's death was due to suffocation. There was a cut on the back of his head.

"He must have fallen down," said Cousin Arthur.

"It could have been so," replied the doctor dubiously.

"This has been a terrible night for my cousin," went on Cousin Arthur. "I wonder if you could give her a sedative." He looked at me with such compassion that I wondered if I had ever really known him before. Moreover he was acting with a new authority as though he were already master of the house. Summoning one of the maids he told her to take me to my room.

I allowed her to lead me away and back in my bedroom I fell onto my bed. I could not believe this was really happening. My life had taken an unexpected turn. For so long it had gone along uneventfully, and now one dramatic event was following on another.

I took the drink which the maid brought up to me and which she said had been given to her by the doctor. Soon I had fallen into a heavy sleep.

The next morning the nightmare continued. The house was in turmoil and there were strangers everywhere.

Cousin Arthur asked me to come to my grandfather's study and there he told me that they had taken my grandfather's body away because they were not satisfied about the way in which he had died. There would be an inquest. "He said something about a blow on the back of his head." "Do you mean he fell down and struck his head?" "It could have been that he became aware that there was a fire and in rushing to get out of his room, he fell. It seems one of the candles round your grandmother's coffin must have fallen over and perhaps set the rug alight. The coffin was on that side of the room which was in immediate proximity to your grandfather's bedroom. As you know, there is a communicating door between the two rooms and there were cracks in the side of the door through which the flames could penetrate. I am not sure, of course. I am surmising ... but the fact is ... those two rooms are the only ones which are damaged—and your grandfather's bedroom is more so than the room in which the coffin lay. Fires start in all sorts of ways."