I nodded.

"I know how you will be feeling, Philippa, because of that altercation last night."

"I had to tell him how I felt," I said.

"I know. And I am aware of the subject you discussed. I want you to understand that I am your friend, Philippa. Your grandfather's wish was that we should marry, but you did not want that. It is a disappointment to me, but I don't want you to think for one moment that I hold it against you."

One of the most bewildering aspects of this situation was the change in Cousin Arthur. He had taken on a new stature with the passing of my grandfather. Gone was the humble, grateful relation, so eager to ingratiate himself. He was now behaving like the head of the house; he was even being kind and understanding to me.

He smiled ruefully. "We cannot force our affections where they will not go," he said. "Your grandfather wanted to provide for you and use you to continue the direct line. Well, he is dead now, and I would not wish you to be forced into a marriage distasteful to you. On the other hand I want you to regard this house as your home ... for as long as you wish."

"Oh Cousin Arthur, that is good of you, for now I suppose all this will belong to you."

"Your grandfather always said I should inherit. Perhaps I am being a bit premature in talking thus. What I should say is that if it worked out as we have been led to believe it will —then this is your home for as long as you wish."

"I couldn't stay here," I said, "knowing that he had turned me out. I shall make some plans but I am relieved by your kind offer to allow me to stay until I do so."

He smiled at me affectionately. "Then that little matter is settled. There will be anxious days ahead. I do not want to add to your anxieties. There may be some unpleasantness. That blow on the head ... Well, obviously he fell, but you must not reproach yourself, Philippa."

"I don't. I had to tell him the truth. I would do exactly the same again. I could not allow him to force me ..."

"No, of course not. There is one other matter. Your grandmother's coffin has been scarred by the fire, but it is intact and I think the best thing we can do is to carry on as far as her funeral is concerned as though this had not happened. She will be buried tomorrow, and we will follow all the usual arrangements. Do you agree that is the best thing to do?"

I did agree.

"All right," he said, patting my shoulder. "That is how it will be."

Of course he too had been under the dominating sway of my grandfather. He had no more wanted to be forced into marriage than I had. The difference in us was that he was prepared to go to great lengths to please my grandfather and get his inheritance, whereas I was not. I supposed that Arthur would have been turned out penniless into a harsh world if he had not obeyed my grandfather, and I have no doubt that being some low-paid curate did not appeal to him. I could understand that and I was even liking him a little now.

My grandmother's funeral took place the next day. Aunt Grace came to the house with Charles Daventry and we talked together. Aunt Grace was very upset at the death of her mother and that she had not been allowed to visit her at the end. She was shocked by the death of her father, but if we were absolutely honest we would have to admit that it was a relief to us all.

We stood round the grave and as the scarred coffin was lowered into the earth and we listened to the clods being thrown onto it, I was thinking of our talks and all that Grandmother had done for us during those first difficult days at the Manor. She had been a kind of anchor to two bewildered young people. I was going to miss her sadly.

But everything would be changed. I must begin to find a post. At least I should soon be seventeen, which was a landmark to maturity. If I explained that I had suddenly fallen into poverty after having lived at Greystone Manor with my grandfather, perhaps I could now get by.

We went back to the house and in my grandfather's study, over biscuits and port wine, we assembled to hear the reading of the will.

We were astonished to learn that my grandmother had had a considerable estate, unknown to my grandfather. I was sure he would have wished to deal with it had he known how rich she was in her own right, and I have no doubt would have taken control of it so that it would no longer have been hers. I had always known that she was a strong-minded woman; her gentleness was misleading. She was kindly too, but once having been forced into marriage, she had been determined not to be completely dominated by her husband. So she had kept her secrets and this was one of them.

The disposal of the money was an even greater surprise to me. Agnes Warden must have been in on the secret because she admitted afterwards that she had brought the lawyer to my grandmother. Agnes herself was left a legacy to provide an annuity; there were one or two other bequests, but the bulk of it was split between her daughter Grace and her granddaughter Philippa "to enable them to live independent lives."

I was stunned.

The great problem which had lain before me had been pushed aside by this gesture of my grandmother's. I was to be comparatively rich. I need not worry about finding that post. I could go from this house as a rich woman of independent means.

"To lead independent lives!" I looked at Grace. She was crying quietly.

The following day the inquest on my grandfather took place. That day stands out in my memory as the strangest of my life. I sat there with Cousin Arthur and Grace and Charles and listened to the doctor's evidence. The heat of the room, the drone of the voices, the ritual of it all was awe-inspiring. I tried to grasp the significance of what the doctor was saying. Sir Matthew Ewell's death was not due to suffocation or the result of burns, and while this might have been caused when he fell and struck his head on the edge of a fender or some piece of furniture, on the other hand there was a possibility that it could have come through a blow administered by some person or persons unknown. It was likely that he had awakened from his sleep to become aware of the fire which had come through from the room next to his. He could have stumbled out of bed in a hurry and fallen. But this was conjecture and it was not possible to prove because the body had been dragged out of the room and it was not known what position it had been in at the time of death.

There was a great deal of discussion about this and at length the inquest was adjourned until the following week.

"What does it mean?" asked Aunt Grace of Charles.

Charles said it meant they were not entirely satisfied with the findings.

It was a strange week which followed. I went about the house in a kind of daze. I longed to get away ... right away.

"You can't make plans until this wretched business is over," said Cousin Arthur.

I noticed the servants were looking at me strangely. I read suspicion in their looks. It could mean only one thing. They had heard my quarrel with my grandfather and they knew that he was threatening to turn me out. And now this talk about his having been struck by someone ... I knew the implication. Someone had struck him, killed him, and then started the fire to cover up the deed.

I couldn't believe it. Did those dark looks implicate me? Could they possibly think that I had done this?

I began to be frightened.

I noticed Mrs. Greaves particularly. She watched me closely. It was ridiculous. It was such nonsense. As if. I would kill my own grandfather!

Agnes Warden was kind to me; so were Aunt Grace and Charles.

"I can't think what they want to make all this fuss about," said Charles. "It is quite obvious that Sir Matthew fell and killed himself."

"There is always this sort of enquiry in cases of sudden death," added Cousin Arthur.

My grandfather's will was read. Arthur had inherited the estate and the house. I was mentioned. There was to be a settlement on the occasion of my marriage to Arthur and there would be a small income for me for life, to be increased on the birth of every child I should have.

This was what he had planned to change when the lawyer would have been summoned. He had clearly wanted it to be definitely understood that in view of my ingratitude I should never have a penny of his money.

Arthur took charge of the household and I continued to be astonished by his consideration to me.

"I think," said Grace, "he is hoping you will change your mind and it will all work out as my father wished."

"That could never be," I told her. "I am grateful for Cousin Arthur's consideration, but I could never marry him."

Grace nodded. Secure in her new life with Charles, she felt she knew a great deal about love and marriage.

Mrs. Greaves' manner towards me became so cool that one day I asked her if anything was wrong.

She looked at me steadily. She had a hard, even a cruel face. I had always thought that long years of service in my grandfather's household had made her like that.

"I think that is a question you should ask yourself, Miss," she said severely.

"What do you mean, Mrs. Greaves?"

"I think you know well enough."

"No," I replied. "I don't."

"Well, there's a lot of speculation as to how that poor gentleman died ... and it's thought that someone in this house might be able to throw a little light on that."

"Do you mean I could?"

"Ask yourself, Miss. We heard the quarrel that went on on the last night of my master's life. I was not far off—accidentally—I couldn't help hearing."

"It must have been a great distress to you to have been forced to listen, Mrs. Greaves."

"If you'll forgive my saying so, Miss, that's the sort of thing I'd expect to hear from you. I heard it because I was there and I saw you go into your grandmother's room after."

"What did you think I did? Set the place on fire and let it burn slowly for hours before I guided it into my grandfather's room?"

"No. The fire was started later."

"Was started, Mrs. Greaves? You mean it began. Nobody started it."                                                          •

"Who's to say, and I fancy some of them people at the inquest has got their own opinions."

"What are you trying to say? And why don't you say it outright?"

"Well, it seems to be a bit of a mystery, Miss. But mysteries get cleared up and all I can say is some people are not what they seem. I don't forget, Miss, that I saw you coming in in the early morning hours—and that not so long ago. I just wondered what you were up to. It only goes to show that you can never tell what people will do, can you?"

I was terribly shaken that she should refer to that night with Conrad. I felt angry and hurt. Why did I not run away with him? Why did I let my foolish puritanical conscience stand in my way? If I had gone I should not have been here when my grandfather died. There would never have been that scene in the study.

Mrs. Greaves had seen how her words affected me. I heard her give a slight snigger as she turned and went silently away.

It occurred to me then that I was in a very dangerous situation.

I think I was too bemused by everything that had happened so suddenly to realize the extent of that danger, which was perhaps fortunate.

Arthur was so kind to me—almost tender; and I wondered vaguely whether Grace was right and he was trying to make me change my mind towards him.

"If they should ask you questions," he said, "all you have to do is tell the truth. If you do that no harm can come. One must never tell a lie in court for if one is discovered one is never believed on a single thing. You'll be all right, Philippa. We shall all be there."

I had never visualized anything like this—the court with all its dignitaries. And it was only a coroner's court. No-one was accused. This was only to decide whether my grandfather had died by accident or design. If the latter was decided then there would be accusations ... and perhaps a trial.

I just could not believe that this was really happening to me. All I could tell myself was that if I had obeyed the instincts of my heart I would now be happy in some vaguely foreign land with the man whom I realized now I undoubtedly loved.

People gave evidence. The doctors who had examined my grandfather's body confirmed that he had not died of asphyxiation but from the blow on the head, which could have occurred an hour or so before the fire was discovered. There could be an explanation of this. He could have smelt the smouldering rug, risen from his bed and fallen and killed himself. The fire was clearly slow-burning for the room in which my grandmother lay had not been so badly burned as had my grandfather's room. Experts agreed that it was possible for the rug to have smouldered for the best part of an hour before bursting into flames, and this would account for the lapse of time between my grandfather's receiving the blow and the presence of the fire being discovered by other members of the household.