So I found comfort in talking to Daisy. I had not told her about the recovery of the sheet from the register. I felt it was too dangerous to tell even her, but I did mention that I had met Katia, who looked after Francine's grave.

"That was a tragedy what turned out to have a happy ending," commented Daisy. "Poor girl ... raped in the woods ... and then blamed by that old father of hers. Really, some of these men want teaching a lesson or two."

"Did you know her, Daisy?"

"I've seen her once or twice at Gisela's. But people did hear about her."

"One would have thought she might have lost the child after such an experience."

"Well, the child saved her sanity, they say. When she got him, she changed. It was like it was all worthwhile ... to get him. She's been a devoted mother ever since."

Hans showed me his toys, among them a troll similar to the one I had seen with Rudi.

I asked him about it.

"My trolly," he said.

"Do you take him to bed with you every night?" I asked.

He shook his head. He was a bad troll, he told me. He had to sleep by himself in a dark cupboard. He took his dog to bed ... if he was good.

Daisy surveyed him with wonder. Her little Hansie! She could understand how Katia felt about her Rudi.

"Little 'uns," she said, "I dunno. They plague you a bit, mind you. Into everything, that's our Hansie. But we wouldn't be without him for the world. Hans says so too. Well, after all, Hansie was the reason he made an honest woman of me. Talking of weddings, I reckon before the year's out we'll be having the wedding of the year. Things'll change for you then, Miss Pip."

"Yes, they will. I shall have to have made my decision by then."

"That's a fact you will. I hope you don't leave us. We've got used to having you around. I like to think of you up at the slosh. Hans says they think such a lot of you there. Well, Miss Freya does. I reckon she'll stay with the Graf and the Grafin until the wedding. It don't seem right she should be under the same roof with her husband to be—even such a roof. Goodness knows there's enough of it! I wonder when that marriage will take place. There's talk, you know. They say Sigmund's got his eyes on someone else."

I felt myself flushing and I looked down and picked up one of Hansie's toys. "Oh ... ?" I said faintly.

"Well, Freya's not much more than a child, is she? What can you expect?"

"Did you ... say ... there was talk in the town?"

"Oh yes. Quite a bit of it. Well, he sees a lot of her and human nature being what it is—"

"Tell me what they are saying, Daisy?"

"Well, it's the Countess Tatiana. It seems he sees a good deal of her. People have seen them together. Very friendly. If it wasn't for this contract he's got with Countess Freya ... You see what I mean."

"Yes," I said quietly. "I do."

"Whether there's anything in it is another matter. I reckon the wedding will go through all right. It has to. Politics and all that. We don't want no trouble about a thing like that. Sigmund would be the first to see it. I reckon whatever he feels about Tatiana, it will be Freya he marries. You seem very absorbed in that rabbit of Hansie's."

"It's pretty," I said.

"I think it's an ugly little beast. No accounting for tastes, as the saying goes. Hansie likes it, though."

I took my leave soon after that. I felt bewildered and deeply disturbed.

When I returned to the schloss Freya was not there. It occurred to me that during the last few days I had been so concerned with my own affairs that I had thought very little of her. Fraulein Kratz, however, felt the same. I told her that we must remember that Freya was now growing away from the schoolroom and we must expect her to evade her lessons now and then.

"It is certainly since the Baron returned and we moved to this schloss that she has changed."

"It is all very natural," I insisted.

My conscience worried me. Perhaps I should attempt to talk to Freya. Sometimes I wondered how much she knew concerning the gossip about Tatiana.

I saw her in the early morning, when she greeted me somewhat absent mindedly.

I said to her: "Freya, is anything troubling you?"

"Troubling me?" she asked sharply. "What could be troubling me?"

"I just wondered. You seemed a little ..."

"A little what?" She spoke sharply again.

"Preoccupied?" I suggested.

"I have a great deal with which to be preoccupied."

"We have spoken very little English lately."

"My English is really quite good, I believe."

"It is certainly better since I came here."

"Which was, of course, the whole purpose of the enterprise," she said pertly. Then she put her arms round me. "Dear Anne," she went on, "don't fidget about me. I'm all right. What do you think of Tatiana?"

The question was so unexpected, as that lady was very much in my mind, that I was startled and showed it.

She laughed at me. "Oh, I know what you're going to say. What you think of Tatiana is of no consequence. It is not your obligation ... your duty ... to have opinions of Tatiana. But that doesn't prevent your having one—and I'll swear you have."

"I know very little of the lady."

"You have seen her. You have drawn your conclusions. I think Sigmund likes her. In fact I think he likes her a great deal."

"What do you mean by that? I asked, and I hoped she did not notice the tremor in my voice.

"Exactly what I say. I'll tell you this. I am sure he would much rather be affianced to Tatiana than to me."

"What rubbish!"

"Not rubbish at all. There she is mature ... nubile ... Is that the right word? Beautiful... I suppose she is beautiful. Do you think she is beautiful?"

"I suppose she would be considered so."

"Well then. Isn't it perfectly reasonable of him to prefer her?"

"It would be very wrong of him to," I said with an air of shocked propriety which shamed me and made me feel a despicable hypocrite. "And," I added weakly, "I am sure he would be too ... too ..."

"Too what?"

"Too—er—honourable, I suppose, to consider such a thing."

"Anne Ayres, there are times when I think you are nothing but a babe in arms. What do you know of men of the world?"

"Perhaps very little."

"Nothing," she declared. "Just nothing. Sigmund is a man, and men are like that ... all of them except priests and those who are too old to bother."

"Freya, I really think you are allowing your imagination to run away with you."

"I observe. And I am sure that I am not the one he really wants to marry."

"So you have settled on Tatiana."

"I have my reasons," she said darkly.

I could not help feeling that she did not seem greatly upset about the possibility, and yet at the same time there was a strangeness about her.

Klingen Rock

When I try to remember the events of that night even now they remain jumbled in my mind, but from the first it seemed to me that some hideous pattern was repeating itself in my life.

I think I awoke with a feeling of dread. Something strange was going on. I was aware of it as I came out of what was like a nightmare. Voices, running footsteps ... strange unfamiliar sounds ... and yet that horrible realization that I had heard it all before. And there it was ... unmistakable ... the acrid smell of burning, the smoke-laden atmosphere.

I was out of my bed in an instant and rushing into the corridor.

Then I knew.

The schloss was on fire.

I was stunned. Freya ... dead! And in this most horrible manner. The fire had started in her room and there had been no hope of rescuing her, even though the conflagration had been checked.

That night seemed endless. Even after the town's fire brigade had departed and we were huddled together in the hall talking in spasmodic whispers, it seemed to go on and on.

What had happened? No one was quite sure, except that the fire had started in the young Countess's room and she must have been overcome by the smoke almost immediately. There had been repeated attempts to save her, but it was too late; no-one had been able to penetrate that blazing room.

I sat shivering with the rest, waiting for the morning, thinking only of my bright pupil whom I had grown to love.

With the coming of the dawn it was realized that three or four rooms—including that one in which Freya slept—had been gutted, but because of the strong stone structure the rest of the building was undamaged and only lightly scarred round the scene of the fire.

Fraulein Kratz was beside me in the hall. She kept murmuring: "Who would have believed this... . She was so young... ."

I couldn't bear to talk of her. I should never forget her ... never forgive myself for having deceived her. Dear, innocent Freya who had never harmed anyone ... to die like that!

I was desperately unhappy and at the back of my mind was the thought of how strange it was that something similar should have happened in my life before. I was taken vividly back to that occasion when there had been a fire at Greystone Manor and to the accusations which had been thrown at me.

I was shivering because there seemed to be some evil portent here.

I lived through the next day in a nightmarish daze. There was much coming and going at the schloss, and people talked together in whispers. I shut myself away. I could not accept the fact that Freya was dead. I had not realized until this moment how deeply I had cared for her.

In the evening of that day Tatiana came to me. She opened the door of my bedroom and walked in unannounced. She looked haggard as I was sure I did. For a moment she did not speak, but just stood looking at me.

Then she said: "So ... this is your work."

I stared at her questioningly.

"I know everything," she said. "You were too complacent. You thought you were so clever. I knew you were masquerading as someone else. I know you are Philippa Ewell, sister of Francine Ewell, Baron Rudolph's mistress. I suspected you almost as soon as I saw you. I had seen you before. You broke into the Grange, remember?"

"I came to look round. I did not break in."

"This is no time to consider the niceties of words. You are an adventuress. Like your sister. I have seen your papers."

"So it was you ..."

"I owed it to the Countess to find out what sort of woman you are." Her voice faltered. "That dear innocent child ... now ... murdered."

"Murdered!" I cried.

"Do give me credit for some intelligence, Fraulein Ewell. I know who you are. I know a great deal about you. I know you tried the same trick on your own grandfather. We have friends in all parts of the world watching our interests. Your sister had attempted to make a place for herself here, so we were watchful of her connections. You thought the trick worked with your grandfather so you tried it again here."

"I don't-"

"You are going to say you don't understand. But you do understand—perfectly. That poor old man died, didn't he? So why not the young girl? They were both in your way. You have the strongest possible motive now ... as you had then. But it is not easy to get away with murder the second time ... even for one as clever as you think you are."

"You are talking nonsense ... wild nonsense."

"I do not think so, and nor will others. It fits perfectly. You are looking for position and wealth as your sister did. She ended up dead in a hunting lodge. Where do you think you will end up, Fraulein Ewell?"

"I have no intention of being spoken to in this manner," I said. "I am not employed by you. My services, alas, are no longer required. I shall immediately resign from the household."

"Murderesses must pay the penalty," she replied.

"What is your accusation?"

"That you deliberately murdered Countess Freya in a manner which you had tried out before and which worked successfully then in the case of your grandfather. You are not going to deny that that gentleman died in a burning room?"

"I am not denying it, but it has nothing to do with this."

"Allow me to contradict you. It has everything to do with this. Your grandfather displeased you. He was going to turn you out ... so that was the end of him, and I believe you came very nicely out of the matter."

"This is monstrous. My money did not come from my grandfather but from my grandmother. I had nothing to do with his death."