"What are you looking at?" asked Francine.

I replied: "Daisy and Tom. They seem to be having a game of some sort."

Francine laughed and Aunt Grace came in then. She was all concern. We must expect the occasional mishap, she said, and hoped no harm was done.

Francine said faintly, "Aunt Grace, I don't feel well enough to come down to dinner tonight. May I have something sent up?"

"Of course."

"And Aunt Grace, could Philippa have hers up here too? In case I ..."

"It shall be arranged," said Aunt Grace. "Now you rest. And Philippa, stay with your sister."

"Oh, I will, Aunt Grace."

She left us and when she had gone Francine started to laugh. "Just think. We'll miss one of the appalling meals. Both of us. Out of evil cometh good."

It was almost an hour later when I saw Daisy emerging from the stables. I was sitting in the window talking to Francine, who was still lying down. Daisy's hair was rumpled and she was buttoning up her blouse. She ran swiftly into the house.

Francine was rather more affected than we had first thought, and the next morning the bruises were violently marked. Daisy screamed at the sight of them and said she would go and see Tom at once because he might have something.

However, within a few days they started to subside and Francine was riding again. Cousin Arthur expressed a certain concern and warned Francine that she should pray before she took her lesson. It might be that God would give heed to her safety.

"Oh, I expect He's too busy to bother about that," said Francine  flippantly.  "Just  imagine!   When  He's   contemplating some universal problem, an angel runs in and says it's time for Francine Ewell's riding lesson and You let her fall off the other day. Shall we send out a guardian angel? She has said her prayers."

She enjoyed shocking Cousin Arthur. In fact, she disliked him as much as she did our grandfather, and there was a growing animosity between Francine and the old man. I think that, being quieter and less noticeable, I appeared to be more biddable. He recognized in Francine the rebel—like our father—and he was watchful of her. He probably thought I was more like Aunt Grace. I was determined not to be.

I looked forward to our visits to our grandmother. Her face used to light up when we came in and she would hold out her hands and let her fingers explore our faces. Agnes Warden would hover round while our grandmother talked about the past, and of course we wanted to hear. Although she was old—of a different world from our own—we could talk to her openly. Constantly she asked us questions about the island, and I think within a week she had a clear picture of it. Francine, who was always frank and perhaps spoke before she had considered her words, asked her how she could ever have come to marry our grandfather.

"It was arranged," she said. "It always is with people like us, you know."

"But our father didn't do what his father wanted," Francine pointed out.

"There would always be the rebels, my dear, even in those days. Your father was one. Odd ... he was a quiet boy. You remind me of him, Philippa. He was purposeful, as I think you would be, if the occasion arose. But I was very young when I married your grandfather. I was sixteen—your age now, Francine. But I seemed much younger. I knew nothing of life."

Francine's face expressed her horror. Married to my grandfather at the same age as herself! I think it was hard for Francine to imagine a worse fate. Francine had not spoken, but it was amazing how sensitive Grandmother was to a mood. She said at once, "Oh, he was different then. He has grown away from the young man he was."

"Poor Grandmother," said Francine, kissing her hand.

"Of course," went on our grandmother, "he ruled the household with his rod of iron right from the first. He was content with the marriage because it joined up the lands, you see, and he had always cared passionately about the family's estate. It has been with the Ewells for so long, it is understandable. We Granters were considered to be something of upstarts by him. We had only been in the Grange for a hundred years or so."

"That's the Tudor house."

"Yes ... yes. Oh, there was trouble about that. My brother refused to sell it to your grandfather. He wanted it very much. He could not bear that anything—just anything —in the neighbourhood did not belong to him. You see, he now owns the whole of the Granter's estate—except the Grange. Much of it came with me as my dowry, but there was a larger portion which went to my brother. He wasn't the clever businessman your grandfather was. He lost most of it. He said your grandfather cheated him. It wasn't true, of course, but there was a quarrel and although your grandfather acquired most of the estate, my brother was determined not to let him have the Grange. He sold it to a foreigner—someone from an embassy in some far-away country. I think it was Bruxenstein ... or something like that."

"That house fascinated me," said Francine.

"It means something to me," said our grandmother. "It was my old home."

She was silent for a while and I knew Francine was remembering, as I was, how we had peered through the windows and thought we saw a ghost.

"It's not used a great deal," said my grandmother. "Agnes tells me they come here from time to time, and then they go away and it's neglected again. And when they come back, in a flash it's full of life again. A strange way to go on. I heard that when they originally bought it, it was for one of their exiled noblemen and that after he'd been in residence for a month or two there was some coup in the country and he went back again."

"They could have sold the house to our grandfather then," said Francine.

"No, they wanted to keep it. Perhaps they wanted it for another exile. There is always trouble, I believe, in those small German states. We heard that they change their rulers from time to time. Grand Dukes ... or Margraves—whatever they call them. However, it is strange to think of those sort of people in my old home."

"Romantic," added Francine, and my grandmother gently ruffled her hair.

I could see that Francine was getting more and more interested in the Grange now that she knew that it had been our grandmother's home; she said she was pleased that the romantic princes or whatever they were had secured it and Grandfather had been outdone for once in his life.

On another occasion our grandmother told us about our father and Aunt Grace. She blossomed when she talked with us, and her great pleasure in our company seemed to have made her younger. I could almost see her as a bride coming to Greystone Manor, a young girl who did not know what marriage was about. We were thankful that we were not ignorant on that score. They had been a passionate race on the island and we had often seen lovers lying on the beaches, wrapped in an embrace; we knew that when some of the girls became pregnant it was due to those embraces and I was fully aware that they had forestalled their marriages. I knew too what Mrs. Emms had meant when she had said Daisy was a one for the boys, and I could guess what had happened when she had gone into the stables with Tom.

But our grandmother's coming to marriage must have been a great shock, and I could not imagine our grandfather as a tender lover. "He was a passionate man in those days," said our grandmother. "He longed for children and was overjoyed when your father was born. He began planning from that day. I was unfortunate in my efforts afterwards, and it was not until five years later that Grace was born. Your grandfather was disappointed because she was a girl. He never cared for her as he did for Edward. He thought Edward was going to be just such another as himself. These plans always go wrong. Then there was Charles Daventry."

"Tell us about him," prompted Francine.

Our grandmother needed no persuasion. "Edward went to Oxford and from that time everything went wrong. Before that, he was interested in the estate. Your grandfather was stern and strict as you can imagine, but there was never any real friction between them until he went to Oxford. It was there that he met Charles. Charles was a sculptor and the two of them had a great deal in common. They became close friends. Edward brought him home during the vacation and your grandfather took an immediate dislike to him. He disliked artists of any sort. He used to say they were dreamers and no good to themselves or to anybody."

"Our father was a great artist," said Francine hotly. "He should have been recognized. I think he will be one day. ... All those beautiful things he made ... they're scattered all over the world. One day ..."

It was the Francine of the studio days who was impressing the customers.

Our grandmother patted her hand. "You loved him dearly," she said. "He was very lovable. Your grandfather said there was no money to be made from chipping stone, but while it was a hobby he was prepared to tolerate it. There ,was Grace too. She was shy and retiring ... but pretty in those days. She was like a young fawn—brown eyes, brown hair; very pretty hair she had in those days. I remember they used to go to the graveyard together, all three of them. They were all interested in the stone statues on the graves. Charles Daventry was a nephew of the present vicar, and the two young men got into touch because of this connection. It was strange how they should both have this taste for sculpting, but I suppose that was why they became great friends."

"I think people should be allowed to do what they want in this life," said Francine hotly.

"Ah yes," agreed our grandmother, "and the strong-willed ones do! Your father made up his mind in the end. I have never seen your grandfather so shocked as he was when he knew that Edward had left. He just could not believe it. You know that your mother came here to sew."

"Yes, we knew that," Francine told her.

"She was exceptionally pretty—dainty as a fairy, and your father loved her from the moment he saw her."

"Until the moment he died," I added quietly.

I felt my grandmother's fingers caressing my hair and I knew that she understood I was near to tears.

"They went off together. Your father did not see your grandfather before he went. He told me though. He said, 'You will understand, Mother, that I cannot talk to Father. That's his tragedy. No-one can talk to him. If only he would listen sometimes ... I think he would have been spared a lot of dissatisfaction.' He did suffer when Edward went, though he wouldn't admit it. He raged and stormed and cut him out of his will. I think he was hoping Edward would have a son who would come back here to us."

"And all he had was two daughters!" said Francine.

"Now that I know you, I wouldn't have had it different. After your father had gone, your grandfather turned to Grace. But she had grown fond of Charles Daventry and he was out of the question."

"Why?" asked Francine.

"Well, your grandfather said he was no match for her. He came to live here ... I think it was to be near Grace. He has a small place adjoining the vicarage—a sort of yard I suppose you would call it, and there he makes his statues. People buy them for graves and our graveyard is noted for some of the fine figures and effigies he does. He is said to be very clever, but it is a poor living. Fortunately for Charles he can live with his uncle at the vicarage. He does certain jobs in the parish too. He's a delightful man ... a bit of a dreamer. He and Grace ... well, it's hopeless really. He's not in a position to marry and your grandfather would never hear of it."

"Poor Grace," I said.

"Poor Grace ... yes," echoed our grandmother. "She is a good woman. She never complains but I sense a sadness... ."

"It's monstrous!" cried Francine. "How dare people interfere with the lives of others!"

"It takes a strong will to go against your grandfather, and Grace always avoided trouble. When she was a little girl she used to hide away until it was over. Your grandfather washed his hands of Grace. He then started to show an interest in his younger brother's boy—your cousin Arthur."

Francine grimaced with distaste.

"He's been Arthur's guardian since the boy was sixteen. That was when Arthur's father was killed in Africa. His mother had gone into a decline some years before. Your grandfather said Arthur was young enough to be moulded. Arthur's father had not left a great deal and your grandfather took over the boy's education. When he heard that he wanted to go into the Church he did not deter him. Your grandfather, as you know, is a very religious man. There was no reason why Arthur should not take holy orders even though he was intended to inherit the estate. One great point in his favour is his name. He's a Ewell and it is very important in your grandfather's eyes to keep the name alive. Francine ... how do you like your cousin Arthur?"