"Oh, sometimes you's born with it. People is born with all sorts of things. Now my aunt's cousin was born with what looked like a bunch of strawberries on her face ... all along of her mother having a fancy for strawberries before she was born."

"What did my mother fancy for me to be born with a spot like that on my face?"

I was thinking: And where is my mother? That was another strange thing about me. I had no mother. I had no father. There were orphans in the village but they knew who their parents had been. The difference was that I did not.

"Well, there's no knowing, is there, ducky?" said Matty comfortably. "We all of us get these things now and again. I knew a girl once born with six fingers. Now that wasn't easy to hide. What's a mole nobody's noticed before? I'll tell you something. I think it's sort of pretty there. There's some people that makes a lot of that sort of thing. They darken 'em to call attention to them. You don't want to worry about that."

Matty was one of the most comforting people I ever knew in my life. She was so content with her lot, which was nothing much but living in that dark little cottage—"one up, one down, a bit at the back where I can do the washing and cooking, and a privy at the bottom of the garden," was the way she described it. It was next door to that of her son, Tom's father. "Near but not too close," she used to say, "which is as it should be." And if the days were dry enough for her to sit outside and see what was going on, she asked no more.

Aunt Amelia might deplore the fact that she sat at her door bringing down the tone of the green, but Matty lived her life as she wanted to and had reached a contentment which few people achieve.

When I went to school the next day Anthony Felton came up to me and whispered in my ear: "You're a bastard."

I stared at him. I had heard that word used in abuse and I was ready to let him know my opinion of him. But Tom came up at that moment and Anthony slunk off at once.

"Tom," I whispered, "he called me a bastard."

"Never mind," said Tom and added mysteriously: "It wasn't the kind of bastard you think." Which was very confusing at the time.

Two or three days before my sixth birthday Aunt Amelia took me into the parlor to talk to me. It was a very solemn occasion and I waited with trepidation for what she was going to tell me.

It was the first day of September and a shaft of sunlight had managed to get through one of the slats in the blinds which had not been properly closed. I can see it now all so clearly—the horsehair sofa; the horsehair chairs to match, which, mercifully, were rarely sat on, with the antimacassars placed primly on their backs; the whatnot in the corner with its ornaments which were dusted twice a week; the holy pictures on the wall with that of the young Queen looking very disagreeable, her arms folded and the ribbon of the Garter over her very sloping shoulders. There was no gayety in that room at all and that was why the shaft of sunshine looked so out of place. I was sure Aunt Amelia would notice it and shut it out before long.

But she did not. She was obviously very preoccupied and rather concerned.

"Miss Anabel is coming on the third," she said. The third of September was my birthday.

I clasped my hands and waited. Miss Anabel had always come on my birthday.

"She is thinking of a little treat for you."

My heart began to beat fast. I waited breathlessly.

"If you are good," went on Aunt Amelia. It was the usual proviso, so I did not take much notice of that. She continued: "You will wear your Sunday clothes although it will be a Thursday."

The wearing of Sunday clothes on a Thursday seemed full of portent.

Her lips were firmly pressed together. I could see that she did not approve of the meeting.

"She is going to take you out for the day."

I was astounded. I could scarcely contain myself. I wanted to bounce up and down on the horsehair chair.

"We must make sure that everything is all right," said Aunt Amelia. "I would not want Miss Anabel to think that we did not bring you up like a lady."

I burst out that everything would be all right. I would forget nothing I had been taught. I would not speak with my mouth full. I should have my handkerchief ready in case it were needed. I would not hum. I would always remember to wait until I was spoken to before speaking.

"Very well," said Aunt Amelia; and later I heard her say to Uncle William: "What is she thinking of? I don't like it. It's un­settling for the child."

The great day came. My sixth birthday. I was dressed in my black button boots and my dark blue jacket with a mercerized cotton dress beneath it. I had dark blue gloves and a straw hat with elastic under the chin.

The fly came from the station with Miss Anabel in it and when it went back I was in it as well.

Miss Anabel was different that day. The thought occurred to me that she was a little afraid of Aunt Amelia. She kept laughing and she gripped my hands and said two or three times: "This is nice, Suewellyn."

We boarded the train under the curious eyes of the station-master and were soon puffing away. I did not remember ever having been on a train before and I did not know what excited me most, the sound of the wheels which seemed to be singing a merry song or the fields and woods which were rushing by; but what gave me most pleasure was the presence of Miss Anabel pressed close beside me. Every now and then she would give my hand a squeeze.

There were a lot of questions I wanted to ask Miss Anabel but I remembered my promise to Aunt Amelia to behave in the manner of a well-brought-up child.

"You are quiet, Suewellyn," said Miss Anabel, so I explained about not speaking until I was spoken to.

She laughed; she had a gurgling sort of laughter which made me want to laugh every time I heard it.

"Oh, forget that," she said. "I want you to talk to me whenever you feel like it. I want you to tell me just anything that comes into your mind."

Oddly enough, with the ban lifted, I was tongue-tied. I said: "You ask me and I'll tell you."

She put her arm round me and held me close. "I want you to tell me that you are happy," she said. "You do like Uncle William and Aunt Amelia, don't you?"

"They are very good," I said. "I think Aunt Amelia is more good than Uncle William."

"Is he unkind to you?" she asked quickly.

"Oh no. Kinder in a way. But Aunt Amelia is so very good that it's hard for her to be kind. She never laughs. ..." I stopped because Miss Anabel laughed a good deal and it seemed as though I were saying she was not kind.

She just hugged me and said: "Oh, Suewellyn ... you're such a little girl really."

"I'm not," I said. "I'm bigger than Clara Feen and Jane Motley. And they are older than I am."

She just held me against her so that I couldn't see her face, and I thought she didn't want me to.

The train stopped and she jumped up. "We're getting out here," she said.

She took my hand and we left the train. We almost ran along the platform. Outside was a dogcart with a woman sitting in it.

"Oh, Janet," cried Miss Anabel, "I knew you'd come."

" Tain't right," said the woman, looking at me. She had a pale face and brown hair drawn down the sides of her face and fastened in a bun at the back. She had on a brown bonnet with ribbon tied under the chin and reminded me of Uncle William suddenly because I could see she was trying to stop herself smiling.

"So this is the child, miss," she said.

"This is Suewellyn," answered Miss Anabel.

Janet clicked her tongue. "I don't know why I ..." she began.

"Janet, you're having a wonderful time. Is the hamper there?"

"Just as you said, miss."

"Come on, Suewellyn," said Miss Anabel. "Get up into the trap. We're going for a ride."

Janet sat in front holding the reins. Miss Anabel and I were behind. Miss Anabel held my hand tightly. She was laughing again.

The dogcart started off and we were soon riding through leafy lanes. I wanted this to go on and on forever. It was like stepping into an enchanted world. The trees were just beginning to turn color and there was a faint mist in the air which made the sunshine hazy, and this seemed to give a certain mystery to the landscape.

"Are you warm enough, Suewellyn?" asked Miss Anabel.

I nodded happily. I did not want to speak. I was afraid of breaking the spell, afraid that I would wake up in my bed and find that I had been dreaming it all. I tried to catch each moment and hold it, saying to myself, Now. It is always now, of course, but I wanted this moment of now to stay with me forever.

I was almost unbearably excited, almost unbearably happy.

When the trap stopped suddenly, I gave a gasp of disappointment. But there was more to come.

"This is the spot," said Janet. "And, Miss Anabel, I reckon it's a whole lot too close for comfort."

"Oh, get away with you, Janet. It's perfectly safe. What time is it?"

Janet consulted the watch pinned to her black bombazine blouse.

"Half past eleven," she said.

Miss Anabel nodded. "Take the hamper," she said. "Get everything ready. Suewellyn and I are going for a little walk. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Suewellyn?"

I nodded. I should have liked anything I shared with Miss Anabel.

"Now you watch out, miss," said Janet. "If you was to be seen ..."

"We're not going to be seen. Of course we're not. We're not going all that near."

"I should hope not."

Miss Anabel took my hand and we walked away.

"She seems rather cross," I said.

"She's cautious."

"What's that?"

"She doesn't like risks."

I didn't know what Miss Anabel was talking about but I was too happy to care.

"Let's go into the woods," she said. "I want to show you something. Come on. Let's run."

So we ran over the grass, dodging between the trees. "See if you can catch me," said Miss Anabel.

I almost did; then she would laugh and slip away from me. I was breathless and even happier than I had been in the train and the dogcart. The trees had thinned and we were on the edge of the woods.

"Suewellyn," she said softly. "Look."

And there it was, just about a quarter of a mile away from us, set on a slight incline with a ditch all round it. I could see it clearly. It was like a castle out of a fairy tale.

"What do you think of it?" she said.

"Is it ... real?" I asked.

"Oh yes ... it's real."

I have always had a good visual memory and could look at something and remember it in detail after a glance or two and thus was able to carry the image of Mateland Castle in my mind through the years to come. I describe it now as I know it to be. When, at the age of six, I first saw it there was something magical on that day which was to stand out in my mind for some years to come, almost like a dream.

The castle was magnificent and mysterious. It was enclosed by tall curtain walls and at the four angles there were massive drum towers; on each flank was a square tower and there was the traditional machicolated gatehouse. Long narrow slits of windows were set in the ashlar walls. The postern tower parapet defending the portal below was a formidable reminder that once boiling oil had been poured from it on anyone who dared attempt to break down the defenses. Behind the battlements were wall walks from which the defenders of the castle would have sent their arrows raining down. I learned all this and much more later; I came to know every corbel, every machicolation, every twist of the spiral staircases. But from that moment it fascinated me completely. It was almost as though it took possession of me. I liked to think later that it willed me to act as I did.

At this time I could only stand beside Miss Anabel staring, speechless.

I heard her laugh and she whispered: "Do you like it?"

Like it? It seemed a mild word to express my feeling about the castle. It was the most wonderful thing I had ever seen. There was a picture of Windsor Castle in Miss Brent's parlor and that was beautiful. But this was different. This was real. I could see the September sunshine picking out sharp bits of flint in the walls and making them sparkle.

She was waiting for me to answer.

"It's ... beautiful. It's real."

"Oh, it's real all right," answered Miss Anabel. "It's been standing there for seven hundred years."