I said: “Please go, and do not come into my room uninvited again.”

She shut the door and I heard the raffia slippers shuffling along the corridor.

I looked at myself in the glass. There was color in my cheeks and my eyes were blazing. I certainly looked ready to go into battle. I looked again. Now that she had gone my expression had changed.

There was fear in my eyes. I had been accused of murder once before. It was strange that that should happen to me twice.

It was like some eerie pattern repeating itself.

There were shadows in the room but deeper shadows in the house.

Two months, I thought. But there were the long days and nights between.

All about me was a sense of doom.

I was afraid.


* * *

I dined alone with Madame. Chantel did not wish to leave Monique and had had something sent up to her on a tray.

Madame was restrained.

She said: “It is hardly worth cooking for the two of us. So we will have a little cold collation.”

The cold collation was the remains of the fish we had yesterday — always fish. It was caught by the local fisherman and was the cheapest food available, that and the fruits, some of which grew in the garden.

It did not concern me. I had little appetite.

The only thing that was lavish at her table was the wine. There must have been a good stock in the cellar.’

The candelabrum which I had admired was on the table as a center decoration but the candles in it were not lighted. There was enough light from the oil lamp, Madame said.

Candles were expensive on the Island, I remembered; I was beginning to consider the cost of everything. One could not be in that house without doing so.

I tried to turn my thoughts from alarming conjectures and give my full attention to Madame de Laudé. How different she was from her daughter. Dignified, poised; her only eccentricity was this economy which was sometimes carried to absurdity. One of the ghosts which haunted this house was that of Poverty.

She smiled at me across the table.

“You are very calm, Miss Brett,” she said. “I like that.”

“I am glad I seem so,” I replied. If she could have read my thoughts she would have changed her mind.

“I fear my daughter is very ill. She brings on these attacks to some extent herself.”

“That’s true, I’m afraid.”

“It is why she needs a nurse in constant attendance.”

She could not have a better, I said.

“Nurse Loman is efficient as well as being decorative.”

I agreed wholeheartedly with that.

“You are very fond of her … and she of you. It is pleasant to have friends.”

“She has been very good indeed to me.”

“And you to her perhaps?”

“No. I don’t think I have had the opportunity of doing much for her. I should welcome it.”

She smiled. “I am glad you are here. Edward needs you and my daughter needs Nurse Loman. I wonder whether you will stay …”

Her eyes were wistful.

“One can never look too far into the future,” I said evasively.

“You must find life so different from what you have been used to.”

“It is very different indeed.”

“You find us … primitive here?”

“I did not expect a great metropolis.”

“And you are homesick perhaps?”

I thought of the gorge and the houses on either side of it and Castle Crediton dominating the scene; I thought of the old cobbled streets of Langmouth and the new part of the town which had expanded through the good graces of Sir Edward Crediton who while he had engaged in his sensual adventures had become a millionaire and brought prosperity to everyone. Even the lady’s maid had lived in the house like a lady and the seamstress had been set up in establishment of her own and her son had been brought into the Company.

I felt a great longing to be there — to smell the cold clean air coming from the sea, to watch the activity at the docks, to see the sails of the cutters and the clippers side by side with the new modern steamers like Serene Lady.

“I suppose one is always homesick for one’s native land when one is away from it.”

She asked questions about Langmouth and it was not long before she brought Castle Crediton into the conversation. She was avid for details and her admiration for Lady Crediton was unbounded.

There was no point in sitting over our meal. We had both eaten very little. I looked regretfully at the remains of the fish and expected to see it the next day.

We went into the salon and Pero brought in the coffee. It was clearly an evening for confidences.

“My daughter is a great anxiety to me,” she said. “I was hoping that when she lived in England she would change, grow more restrained.”

“I could not imagine her being so wherever she lived.”

“But in the Castle … with Lady Crediton … and the graciousness of everything …”

“The Castle,” I said, “is indeed a Castle, although it was built by Sir Edward. You would think it was of Norman origin and this of course means that it is vast. People could live in it without seeing each other for weeks. Lady Crediton kept to her own quarters. It was not like living in a family, you understand.”

“But she invited my daughter. She wanted Edward to be brought up there.”

“Yes, and I think she continues to want that. But Mrs. Stretton was ill and the doctor thought the English climate aggravated her disease. That was why they wanted her to come back here for a while. We shall see what effect it has on her.”

“I liked to think of her there. Comfortable and secure. Here … As you see we are very poor.”

I did not wish her to go on in this strain because her poverty was something which obsessed her and like all obsessions was boring to other people. Moreover I did not believe she was as poor as she professed to be. I looked round the room at the furniture I had noticed before. Since I had been in the house I was constantly finding pieces of interest.

I said to her: “But Madame de Laudé, you have many valuable articles here.”

“Valuable?” she asked.

“The chair on which you are sitting is French eighteenth century. It would fetch a high price in the market.”

“The market?”

“The antique market. I must explain to you. I am not a governess by profession. My aunt had an antique business and trained me to help her. I learned something of furniture, objets d’art, porcelain and so on. My aunt died and I was unable to continue the business. It was rather distressing and my friend Nurse Loman suggested that I needed a change and that I should take this post.”

“That’s interesting. Tell me about my furniture.”

“Some of it is very valuable. The majority of it is French and the French were noted throughout the world for their artistry. No other country has ever produced more beautiful furniture. Now that chiffonier over there. I know it is a Riesener. I have already looked and discovered the cypher. You may think I am inquisitive, but I have a passionate interest in these things.”

“Indeed not,” she said. “I am glad of your interest. So pray go on.”

“Its lines are so beautifully straight. Can you see it? The marquetry is exquisite and those short pedestal legs are perfect. It’s an example of how effectively simplicity and grandeur can be combined. I have rarely seen such a piece outside museums.”

“You mean it is worth … money!”

“Quite a sum, I should say.”

“But who would buy it here?”

“Madame, dealers would come right across the world for such pieces as you have.”

“You surprise me. I did not know.”

“I thought you did not. The furniture should be cared for … examined. You must make sure that it is not attracting pests. It should be polished, kept free of dust. It should be examined from time to time. But I run on.”

“No, no. Polish! It is not easily obtained here, and is very expensive.”

Like candles, I thought, and I was exasperated.

“Madame,” I said, “I am convinced that there is a small fortune in furniture and other rare pieces in this house.”

“What can I do about it?”

“It could be made known that it existed. That chiffonier I was talking about. I remember an inquiry from a man we had. He wanted one and would have been content I believe with something less than a Riesener. He would have paid up to £300. We could not satisfy him. But if he had seen that …”

Her eyes glowed at the talk of money.

“My husband brought this furniture from France years ago.”

“Yes, it’s mostly French.” I went on rapidly, because the thought of inspecting this furniture delighted me, and I would enjoy telling Madame that she was not so poor in worldly goods as she believed herself to be. “I could make an inventory of what is in the house. This could be sent to dealers in England. I am sure with … results.”

“But I did not know. I did not realize.” She was sober suddenly. “To make an inventory,” she said, “that is a professional thing. You would need to be paid.”

How the thought of having to pay for something worried her!

I said quickly, “I will do it for pleasure. It shall be my hobby while I am in this house. Madame, I should not ask payment. I will teach Edward something about antiques at the same time so I shall not be neglecting his studies. These pieces of furniture are allied to history.”

“Miss Brett, you are a most unusual governess.”

“By which you mean I am not a real one.”

“I am sure you are more useful to Edward than what you call a real one would be.”

I was excited. I talked about various pieces in the house. I thought: Those two months will pass quickly because I shall have so much to do.

“Have some more coffee, Miss Brett.” A concession. Usually one had only one cup; and the rest was taken away and reheated for the next occasion.

I accepted. It was excellent coffee and I believe grown on the Island, not in large enough quantities to be exported, but very pleasant for the people of the Island.

She became confidential, telling me how the furniture had been brought over.

“My husband was of a good family, the younger son of a noble house. He came to the Island after he had fought a duel in which he killed a minor member of the French royal family. It was necessary for him to get out of the country quickly. His family sent out the furniture for him at a later date. He arrived here with some money and little else. I met him and we married, and then he started the sugar plantation which prospered. He had wines sent out from France and this house was very different then. I had lived on the Island all my life. I had never lived anywhere else. My mother was a native girl; my father a remittance man who was sent out from England because his family wished to be rid of him. He was charming and I think would have been clever, but he was lazy. He liked nothing better than to sit in the sun. I was his only daughter. We were poor. He wanted to spend everything, on the drink that is brewed locally. It is very potent. Gali. You will hear of it, I am sure. And when Armand came, we were married, and we lived here and we entertained and there were few richer than we were on the Island.”

“There is a social life on the Island?”

“There was … and still is to some extent, but I cannot afford to entertain now and I would not accept invitations which I could not return. There is quite a colony of French, English, and some Dutch. Mostly they look after the industries and the shipping branches here. They go back after a while. Not many stay long.”

She had given me a clearer picture of the Island than I had before. It was in fact a strange picture of the commercial and the uncultivated. Down by the waterfront there was activity in the mornings and late afternoons, and in parts of the Island among the thatched huts many lived in a primitive state.

“My husband was a good businessman,” she said, “but fiery tempered. Monique takes after him in many ways, but not in her appearance. She looks like my mother. Sometimes she looks as though she is of pure Island blood. But she has inherited her fathers impulsiveness and alas his physical state. He had consumption and nothing the doctor could do could help it. He grew more and more ill until he died. He was young. Only thirty-one. And then I had to sell the plantation, and very soon after we started to be poor. I do not know how I manage. It is only with the utmost care …”