I never stopped congratulating myself on being at the stream that day when the chair came hurtling along and I had been able to save Ben Henniker from an accident which I had already convinced myself would have been certain death. I could have liked him for that alone and he would have liked me for saving his life, but there was more to it than that. There was something in our natures that matched each other.

That was why it was so irksome to wait.

I would sit by the stream and hope he would come in his chair.

“I know it was next Wednesday we were to meet,” he would say, ‘but to tell the truth I thought it was too long to wait. “

Then we would look at each other and laugh.

But it didn’t happen like that. I just sat at the stream and nothing happened. I could see him so vividly, for his conversation had conjured up one image after another; I thought of the sun’s beating down on him and what would have happened if the rock which had fallen on him had been a little heavier and had killed him.

Then I should never have known him.

That started me thinking of death, and I was remembering the graves in the churchyard and they reminded me of the raised earth in the Waste Land where the archangel grew. Was it really a grave, and if so, whose?

It was no use sitting and staring across the stream. He wouldn’t come.

He had visitors who would perhaps be people who had come to buy or sell opals. I pictured them with a decanter of wine or whisky between them, filling then-glasses as soon as they were empty (for I was sure Ben Henniker drank heartily). He was the sort of man who would do everything with a special gusto. They would talk together and laugh a great deal and perhaps discuss the opals they had found or bought or sold. I wished I were with them. But I had to wait until next Wednesday and it was a long way off.

Sadly I stood up and wandered, aimless, along the stream and so I found myself in the Waste Land kneeling by the grave.

Oh yes, it was a grave. There was no doubt of that. I started to pull up the weeds which grew there and after I had worked for a while it was clearly revealed. It was not a dog’s grave. It was too big for that. Then I made a startling discovery. A stake protruded slightly from the earth, and when I seized it and pulled it up, I saw that it was a small plaque and on it was a name. I knocked off the earth and what was revealed made me feel as though icy water were trickling down my spine, for on that plaque was my own name-Jessica-simply Jessica Clavering.

I sat back on my knees studying’ the plaque. I had seen such used before on the graves in the churchyard. They were put there by those who could not afford the crosses and angels holding books on which were engraved the virtues of those who lay beneath them.

In that grave lay a Jessica Clavering.

I turned the plaque over and there I could just make out some figures.

‘1880’ and above it “Ju …” the other two letters were obliterated.

This was even more disturbing. I had been born on the 3rd of June, 1880, and whoever lay in that grave not only bore my name but had died at the time of my birth.

Momentarily I had forgotten Ben Henniker. I could think of nothing but my discovery and wonder what it meant

I found it impossible to keep this to myself and as Maddy was the obvious one to approach, I waylaid her as she was going into the kitchen garden to cut curly kale for dinner.

“Maddy,” I said, deciding to come straight to the point, ‘who was Jessica Clavering? “

She smirked.

"You haven’t far to look for that one. She’s her who asks too many questions and was never known to be content with the answer.”

"That one,” I said with dignity, ‘is Opal Jessica. Who is just Jessica?”

“What are you talking about?” I began to notice the signs of agitation.

“I mean the one who is buried in the Waste Land.”

‘now look here. Miss, I’ve got work to do. Mrs. Cobb’s waiting for her curly kale. “

"You can talk while you’re cutting it. “

“And am I supposed to take orders from you?”

"You forget, Maddy, I’m seventeen years old. That’s not an age to be treated like a child. “

"Them that acts like children gets treated as such. “

“It's not childish to take an interest in one’s surroundings. I found a plaque on the grave. It says ” Jessica Clavering” and when she died.”

“Well, now get from under my feet.”

“I’m nowhere near them and I can only presume that since you behave like this you have something to hide.”

It was no use talking to her. I went to my room and wondered who else would know about the mysterious Jessica, and I was still thinking of it when I went down to dinner.

Meals were dreary occasions at the Dower House. There was conversation, but it never sparkled. It usually centred round local affairs, what was happening at the church and to people of the village. We had very little social life and that was entirely our own fault for when invitations came they were declined.

“How could we possibly return such hospitality?” Mama would cry.

“How different it used to be! The Hall was always full of guests.” At times like that I would find myself watching my father, who would pick up The Times and cower behind it as though it were some sort of shield, and often he would find an excuse to get away. I once pointed out that if people invited guests they didn’t necessarily ask for anything in return.

“You are socially ignorant,” said Mama; then with resignation: “How could we expect anything else after the manner in which we have had to bring you up.” And I would be sorry I had given here another opportunity for reproaching my father.

On this occasion we were seated round the table in the really rather charming dining-room. The Dower House had been built at a later period than Oakland Hall, for it had been added in 1696 and there was a plaque over the porch to confirm this. I had always thought it a beautiful house and it was only when compared with the Hall that it could be considered small. It was built of brick with stone dressings, and the roof sprang from a carved cornice which, with the mullioned windows, gave great charm. The dining-room was lofty, although not large, and from its long windows we had a view of the lawn, which was Poor Jarman’s pride.

We sat at the mahogany table with its cabriole legs, which had once been at Oakland Hall.

“We were able to salvage some pieces,” Mama had said, ‘but to bring all the furniture from the Hall to the Dower House was impossible so we had to let some of it go. ” She spoke as though they had all been sacrificed, but I reckoned Mr. Henniker had paid a high price for them.

My father was at the head of the table saying scarcely anything; my mother at the other end kept a sharp eye on Maddy who had to serve at meal times in addition to her other duties a fact which Mama found more distressing than Maddy ever did and on my mother’s right hand was Xavier and on one side of my father Miriam and on the other myself.

Xavier was saying that the summer’s drought had not been good for the crops and he was sure that when we did need the ram it wouldn’t come.

This was said every year, and somehow the harvest was safely gathered in and there were great marrows and sheafs of wheat decorating the church to show that the miracle had happened again.

“When I think of the land we used to own …” sighed Mama.

It was the sign for my father to clear his throat and talk brightly about how much less rain there had been this year compared with last.

“I remember what disaster there was last year,” he said.

Most of Yarrowland crops were under water. ” This was a mistake because Yarrowland was a farm on the Donningham estate, and it had reminded Mama of Lady Clara. I looked at Xavier to watch his reactions. He gave no sign that he was wounded, but then Xavier never would because he was the sort of man who considered it ill bred to show his feelings. I wondered whether that was why he found it so difficult to show Lady Clara that he really did want to many her.

The Donninghams can take disaster in their stride,” said Mama.

“They retained their fortune throughout the generations.”

That’s true enough,” my father agreed in the resigned way which implied he wished he hadn’t spoken. I was sorry for him, and to change the subject I blurted out: ” Who was Jessica Clavering? “

There was immediate silence. I was aware of Maddy, standing by the sideboard, a dash of curly kale in her hands. Everyone at the table was looking at me and I saw the faint colour begin to show under Mama’s skin.

“What do you mean, Jessica?” she said impatiently, but I knew her well enough to realize that this time the impatience was to hide embarrassment.

“Is it some joke?” said Miriam, her lips, which seemed to grow thinner with the passing of the years, twitching slightly.

“You know very well who you are.”

“I’m Opal Jessica. And I often wonder why my first name is never used.”

Mama looked relieved.

“It’s not very suitable,” she said.

Why did you give it to me. then? ” I demanded.

Xavier, who was the sort who always came to the rescue when he could, said: “Most of us have names we’d rather not own to, but I suppose when we were born they seemed suitable enough. In any case, people get used to names. I think Jessica is very nice, and as Mama says, it’s suitable.”

I was not going to be side-tracked.

“But who is this Jessica who is buried in the Waste Land?” I insisted.

“Buried in the Waste Land?” said Mama tetchily.

“What’s that? Maddy, the kale will be getting cold. Do serve.”

Maddy served, and I felt frustrated as I had so many times before.

Miriam was saying: “I hope Mrs. Cobb has given it an extra boiling. Did you think it was a little tough last time. Mama?"

” It was and I did speak to Mrs. Cobb about it. “

“You must know,” I said.

“You couldn’t have someone buried so near the house and not know. I found a stake with her name on it.”

“And what were you doing in this-as you call it-Waste Land?” demanded Mama. I knew her tactics. If she was ever in a difficult situation she retaliated by going into the attack.

“I often go there,” I told her.

“You should be better employed. There is a whole stock of dusters to be hemmed. Isn’t that so, Miriam?”

“Indeed it is. Mama. There is much waiting to be done.”

“It always seemed to me a wasted effort,” I grumbled.

“Hemming dusters! They collect the dust just as well without the stitching.” I could never resist stating an obvious fact, no matter how irrelevant.

This gave my mother the excuse she needed to go off on one of her sermons on industry and the need to give the poor as good as we took ourselves, for the dusters-made from old garments which had passed their usefulness and were cut up for the purpose-were distributed to the poor. If we could no longer afford to give them shirts and blankets we could at least cling to some of the privileges of the upper classes.

Xavier listened gravely—so did Miriam, and my father, as usual, was silent while the cheese -was brought in and. eaten. Then my mother rose from the table before I had time to pursue the matter of the grave and the plaque.

After the meal I made my way straight to my bedroom, and as I was mounting the stairs I heard my parents talking in the hall.

My father was saying: “She’ll have to know. She’ll have to be told sooner or later.”

“Nonsense,!” retorted Mama.

I don’t see how. “

“If it hadn’t been for you it would never have happened.”

I listened, shamelessly straining my ears for I knew they were talking about Jessica’s grave.

They went into the drawing-room and I was as bewildered as ever. It seemed that everything came back to the fact that my father had gambled away the family fortune.

As Wednesday approached I forgot my curiosity about the grave in the Waste Land in my excitement at the prospect of visiting Ben Henniker at Oakland Hall. In the early afternoon I set out and as I turned into the drive it struck me as strange that I should be a visitor to what so easily might have been my own home. Oh dear, I thought, I sound like Mama!

Oaks-solid, proud and beautiful-grew on either side of the drive which wound round-a fact which had caused me some irritation in the past because I had been unable to see the house from the road, but now I was glad of it. It added a sort of mystery and as soon as I had rounded the bend I was out of sight, which was useful in case anyone might be passing and saw me.