“I know, Lucie, I know.”

“Your mother is dead and buried. We must try to go on from there.”

I nodded.

“Don’t forget,” she added gently, ‘that I am here to help and comfort you. Wasn’t it always like that, from the time of our schooldays? “

I agreed that it was.

“But you shouldn’t make sacrifices, Lucie. We can look after ourselves. And you wouldn’t be far away at the doctor’s house.”

Lucie shook her head.

“I don’t think I shall ever be at the doctor’s house,” she said.

“I believe my place is here … in Whiteladies.”

“I repeat, Lucie, you must not sacrifice yourself.”

“Martyrs are tiresome people,” she said with a smile.

“I have no intention of being one. This is where I want to be, Minta. This is where I want to stay.”

I should have seen it coming but it was a shock when it did.

It was May—six months after my mother’s death—a lovely day, almost summer, with the birds singing their delighted chorus and the buds sprouting everywhere, the chestnuts in blossom and the orchard a mass of pink and white and in the air was that unmistakable feeling that life is wonderful and happiness is just round the corner. This is the miracle of the English spring.

I had been for a ride after luncheon as far out as the Wakefield estates and had come in thinking how pleasant a cup of tea would be.

It wanted another quarter of an hour to four o’clock, so I went and sat under the chestnut tree.

And there Lucie joined me. I watched her walking across the lawn. She was very different from the school teacher she had been when I first met her. There had been an air of defiance about her then. Now she walked with a springy step and the new gown which Lizzie had made to her instructions became her well. She was what the French call une jolie laide. Taken feature by feature she was decidedly plain, but there was an unusual charm in the complete picture which almost amounted to beauty.

“I want to talk to you rather specially,” she said.

“Come and sit down, Lucie.”

She did. I looked at her profile—the too long nose, the jutting chin.

“I have something very important to say to you and I am unsure how you will take it.”

“You look sure that I am going to like it.”

“I wish I were.”

“Why do you keep me in suspense? Tell me quickly. I’m impatient to hear.”

She took a deep breath and said: “Minta, I am going to marry your father.”

“Lucie!”

“There! You are shocked.”

“But … Lucie!”

“Does it seem so incongruous?”

“Well, it’s so unexpected.”

“We have been fond of each other for a long time.”

“But he’s years older than you, Lucie.”

“You are finding excuses to oppose us.”

“I’m not. It’s true that you are half his age.”

“What of it? I’m serious for my years. Don’t you agree?”

“But you and the doctor …”

“You imagined a great deal about that affair.”

“But he did ask you to marry him.”

“And I didn’t accept him.”

“And now you and Papa …”

“Does it worry you that I shall be your stepmother?”

“Of course not. And how could I not want you to be a member of the family? You are in any case. It’s just that …”

“It seems unsuitable?”

“It’s just that it hadn’t occurred to me.” I thought then: This is what Mrs. Glee was referring to. So it must have been obvious to others if not to me.

She went on: “We have grown very close during the last months when I have tried to comfort him. He reproached himself a little—unnecessarily, I have constantly to assure him. I think we shall be very happy, Minta. But I feel I want your approval. I couldn’t be happy without it.”

“But what I say is of no importance, surely?”

“It’s of the utmost importance to me. Oh Minta, please say you will welcome me as your stepmother.”

For my answer I stood up and put my arms about her.

“Dearest Lucie,” I said, ‘it’s a wonderful thing for Papa and for me.

I was thinking of you. “

She stroked my hair.

“You are so romantic. You decided that the doctor was for me and you built up a pretty picture of my launching him to success. Well, it’s not to be. What appears to be romantic does not always bring happiness. I am happy now, Minta. I want to be here. You and your father are my dear ones. This is my home. Go to your father now. Tell him I have told you the news and impress on him how happy it has made you.”

^

So Lucie and I went to Papa and I told him that it was wonderful news; and he was happy as I had never seen him before.

“We shall have to wait for the full year to pass,” said Lueie, ‘or people will talk. “

“Let them talk,” said my father.

But Lucie thought it best to wait; and already he was relying on her judgment.

She was right, of course; and they waited.

It was a misty November day, very much like the one when Mamma had died that Lucie became Lady Cardew, my stepmother.

How different was our household now! The servants knew they must obey Lucie. She never lost her temper; she was always gracious. I doubt Whiteladies had ever had a more respected chatelaine. She loved the house and the house seemed to respond to her love. I have seen her stand on the lawn looking at it with a sort of wonder, as though she couldn’t really believe that she was the mistress of it.

I used to tease her about it.

“I believe you are the reincarnation of a nun. You knew this place was your home from the moment you set eyes on it.”

“Minta’s romantic nonsense,” she said teasingly.

Very little was done about my father’s book. She had so much to occupy her now, and since he was not continually told what an unsatisfactory husband he was he did not feel the need to justify himself. He took an interest in the gardens and the house. Lucie quickly discovered that repairs were necessary.

It was soon after that that I saw her really shaken out of her usual calm. She told me about it because it was not easy to discuss such matters with Papa.

“Your father’s financial affairs are in a wretched state,” she said.

“Those lawyers of his are no good whatsoever. He has lost a great deal of money on the stock exchange lately and has been misguided enough to jeopardize the house by borrowing money on it.”

“Franklyn hinted at this some time ago.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

“Not interested in Whiteladies!’

“Well, now you are of course. What does it mean, Lucie?

“I’m not sure.

I must find out. Whiteladies must not be in danger. “

“I think that now you’re in command we shall be all right.”

She was pleased with that remark, but a little impatient. We were reckless. We didn’t deserve Whiteladies because we had jeopardized it.

She would sit in Papa’s study with a pile of bills and papers before her.

“We must cut down here,” she would say.

“We could economize there. We must make Whiteladies safe now and for the future.”

My father admired her greatly. He had a childish belief that now Lucie was mistress of Whiteladies everything would be all right. I shared that view. There had always been a quality about Lucie that inspired confidence.

I told her often how glad I was that she was now definitely a member of the family. I had only wanted her to marry the doctor, I pointed out, so that she could stay near us.

She was pleased.

“Stepmother is not an ugly word in this house,” she commented.

“Darling Lucie, it was a lucky day for us when you came to Whiteladies,” I told her; I knew my father told her the same.

Neither of us could openly say this, but Whiteladies was a happier and more peaceful place since my mother had died.

Then Lucie surprised us again. She told me first. I thought she had been a little subdued for a few weeks, and one day when I was sitting in my favourite spot in the pond garden, she came out there to me.

“I have something to tell you,” she said, ‘and I want you to be the first to know. Even your father doesn’t know yet. “

I turned to her, not understanding the ecstatic expression in her smoky eyes.

“I hope you’ll be pleased, but I’m not sure.”

“Please tell me … quickly.”

She laughed in a rather embarrassed way.

“I’m going to have a baby.”

“Lucie! When?”

A long time yet . in seven months’ time, I should say. “

“It’s … wonderful.”

“You think so?”

“Don’t you?”

She gripped her hands together.

“It’s what I’ve always longed for.”

I threw my arms about her neck.

“Oh, Lucie, how happy I am! Just imagine—a baby in the house! It’ll be lovely. I wonder whether it will be a girl or a boy. Which do you want?”

“I don’t know. A boy, I suppose. Most people like the first born to be a boy.”

“So you anticipate having a family!”

“I didn’t say that. But I’m so excited. But I wanted to be absolutely sure before telling your father.”

“Let’s tell him now. No, you should tell him on your own. You wouldn’t want an intruder at a time like this.”

“You are the sweetest stepdaughter anyone ever had.”

She left me sitting here, watching a dragonfly hover over the pond and settle momentarily on the statue.

This, I thought, will compensate Lucie for everything. That horrid little house in the Midlands, all the hardships of her youth. What a happy day for Lucie!

My father was bewildered at first, then delighted. I am sure he had never thought he would have other children. But Lucie, it seemed, could provide everything. There was no talk in the house now of anything but the coming baby. Lucie softened considerably; as her body grew more shapeless and she lost her elegance she gained a new beauty.

She loved to sit with me and talk about the baby. She planned the layette and Lizzie sewed it. Those were the lovely peaceful months of waiting.

We tried to coddle Lucie but she wouldn’t let us. Her baby was going to be strong and healthy, she said. He wasn’t going to have an invalid for a mother. I noticed she referred to the baby as ‘he’, which showed she wanted a boy, although I guessed that when the child came she wouldn’t care what its sex was.

Dr. Hunter was calling frequently at Whiteladies now. He told me that there was nothing to worry about whatsoever. Lucie was strong and healthy; she would produce a lusty child.

It was Franklyn who pointed out to me what a difference the birth of a child might make to me personally.

“If the child is a boy,” he said, ‘he will be your father’s heir, for when your mother married him her property passed into his possession.

Has this occurred to you? “

“I hadn’t thought of it.”

“What an impractical girl you are! Whiteladies would go to your father’s son. You would have no claim to it unless some moral duty made him leave it to you.”

“Whiteladies would always be my home, Franklyn. What would it matter if it belonged to my stepbrother … or would he be half-brother?”

Franklyn said it could make a great deal of difference to me and implied that I was most unworldly.

I laughed at him, but he was very serious.

Such pleasant days they were. During summer afternoons on the lawn and winter evenings by the fire, we eagerly awaited the birth of Lucie’s child. My father seemed younger; he was so proud of Lucie and could scarcely bear her out of his sight.

And then in November—the same month in which my mother bad died but two years later—the child was born.

It was a girl and was christened Druscilla.

I think Lucie was a little disappointed that she had not borne a son and so was my father, but the delight at finding themselves parents of a charming little girl soon dispersed that.

Druscilla quickly became the most important person in the household; we all vied for her favours; we were all delighted when she chose to crow at us.

I often marvelled at the way in which everything had changed since my mother had died.

That was the state of affairs when Stirling and Nora came back to England.

NORA

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