“What of him?”

“He is by all accounts a very attractive young man.”

“Mrs. Rendall seems to think so and she is not easily pleased.” I spoke lightly, but he did not enter into my mood.

“I’ve heard that you and he have quickly become good friends.”

“He is interested in music.”

“And you’ve both discovered a passion for archaeology.”

“So has Mrs. Rendall.”

He was determined that no lightness should enter the conversation.

“He is no doubt charming.”

“No doubt.”

“You would know.”

“We have known each other such a short time, but yes, I should say he would be a very charming companion.”

“I hope you will not do anything…rash…commit yourself….”

“What do you mean?”

“I think you should not be impulsive, Caroline. Be patient.”

We both heard the sound of horses’ hoofs together, and almost immediately three riders came into sight. Allegra, Alice and Sylvia.

I thought: They must have seen me leave and followed me.

Allegra confirmed this. She called out: “We saw you leave, Mrs. Verlaine, and we wanted to come with you. Do you mind?”


* * *

Alice had stumbled through the Czerny Study and looked at me expectantly.

“Not bad, but there’s plenty of room for improvement.”

She nodded sadly.

“Well,” I went on consolingly, “you do take pains and you are getting on.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Verlaine.” She looked down at her hands and said: “The lights have started again.”

“What?”

“The lights in the chapel. I saw them last night. It’s the first time…since Edith…went.”

“Well, I shouldn’t worry too much about it if I were you.”

“I don’t worry, Mrs. Verlaine. I just feel a little scared.”

“No harm will come to you.”

“But there really does seem to be a curse on the house, doesn’t there?”

“Certainly not.”

“But there were all those deaths. It started when Mr. Napier shot Beau. Do you think it’s true that Beau has never forgiven him?”

“What nonsense. And I’m surprised at you, Alice. I thought you had more sense.”

Alice looked ashamed. “It’s what everyone says…that’s all.”

“Everyone?” I repeated.

“The servants say it. They say it in the village. They see the light and say it. They say that there will never be any peace until Mr. Napier goes away again. I think that’s unkind, don’t you? I mean it would make Mr. Napier unhappy if he heard…and I think he has heard because he does look unhappy, doesn’t he? But perhaps he’s thinking of Edith.”

“Your head seems to be filled with a lot of silly gossip,” I said. “No wonder you don’t make progress with your music.”

“But you said I was making progress, Mrs. Verlaine.”

“More progress,” I added.

“So you don’t think it’s Beau who is haunting the chapel?”

“Of course not.”

“I know what Mrs. Verlaine thinks.” It was Allegra coming for her lesson, punctual for once. “She thinks I do it. Don’t you, Mrs. Verlaine? You think I’m playing tricks.”

“I hope you would never do anything so foolish.”

“But you suspect me, don’t you? Do you know what I am? I’m an object of suspicion.”

“I know it isn’t Allegra,” said Alice. “I’ve seen the light when Allegra has been with me.”

Allegra grimaced at me.

“We’ll show you,” she said.

“And now,” I said, “perhaps you will show me how well you have done your practice.”


* * *

The opportunity to “show me” came a little too soon for my peace of mind. That very evening I was in my room when Allegra burst in. She was very excited. “Now, Mrs. Verlaine. Alice and I saw the light only a moment ago.”

Alice was at the door. “May I come in, Mrs. Verlaine?”

I gave permission and the two girls stood before me.

“A moment ago,” cried Allegra. “We could see it from your window, but it’s better from Alice’s.”

I followed them up the stairs to Alice’s bedroom; she lighted a candle and held it up to the window. She stood there for some moments until I said: “Do put that candle down, Alice. You’ll set the curtains on fire.”

Obediently she set it down and lighted another.

While she was doing so, Allegra caught the sleeve of my dress and whispered: “Look. There it is.”

And there it was. The light flashing momentarily and then disappearing.

“I’m going to see who’s there,” I said.

Alice caught my sleeve, her eyes agonized. “Oh no, Mrs. Verlaine.”

“Someone is playing tricks, I’m sure of it. Who’ll volunteer to come with me?”

Alice looked at Allegra, her face visibly blanching. “I’d be terrified,” she said.

“So would I,” replied Allegra.

“Until we discover who it is playing these tricks you will go on being terrified.”

I moved toward the door. I was not going to admit that I was uneasy myself. A sudden idea had come to me, and it startled me. What if there was something so mysterious going on in this house that I had no notion as to what it could be? In that moment I experienced what I can only call a premonition and it was as though Roma herself was warning me.

“Be careful. You know how impulsive you always were.”

She had said something like that to me on many occasions and I could distinctly hear her voice in my mind.

I had a friend now, an ally. Wouldn’t it be wise to enlist the help of Godfrey Wilmot before trying to discover the reason for this strange phenomenon?

One of the candles suddenly went out; and it was immediately followed by the other; the room was almost in darkness.

Alice said shrilly: “It’s a sign, Mrs. Verlaine. It’s a warning, the two candles going out like that when there was no draft.”

“You blew them out.”

“I didn’t, Mrs. Verlaine.”

I turned to Allegra. “She didn’t either,” declared Alice. “They went out of their own accord. Strange things happen in this house, you know. It’s on account of all that happened all those years ago. It was a warning. We mustn’t go to the ruin. Something awful would happen if we did.”

As she lighted the candles I saw her hands were trembling.

“Alice,” I said, “you are letting your imagination run riot again.”

She nodded gloomily. “I can’t help it, Mrs. Verlaine. Ideas come to me. I wish they wouldn’t…and then I think what could be and sometimes it’s frightening.”

“You ought to live in some little house where nothing has ever happened,” said Allegra.

“No, no. I want to live here. I don’t mind being frightened now and then as long as I can live here.”

She turned to the window and stood looking out. I went to stand beside her.

We were both watching the copse; but the light did not appear again.

The candles burned steadily and Alice turned to look at them with satisfaction.

“You see they’re all right now. It was a warning. Oh, Mrs. Verlaine, don’t ever go to the ruin alone in the dark.”

I said: “I should like to get to the bottom of the silly affair.”

I was relieved however that it was not Allegra; and it occurred to me then that it might be one of the menservants signaling to one of the women.


* * *

I had met Godfrey in the cottage near the site. Because of his interest in archaeology he was frequently there and we had made the cottage a rendezvous.

I sat on the stairs and he perched himself on the table while we talked about Roma. I told him of her delight in this place because it was so close to the remains and how, when I had stayed here, I had tried to instill a little domestic comfort.

“Not,” I said, “that one could cook much, but there was an oil stove which she kept in the little outhouse. It smelled abominably—but perhaps that was mainly the drum of paraffin oil she kept there. Oh, what a relief it is to talk of Roma!”

“What could have happened?” he asked. “Let’s think of all the possibilities. Let’s explore them—one by one.”

“That’s what I’ve been doing ever since I heard. I explore and reject. What was that?” I was sure the room had darkened suddenly. I had my back to the tiny window and so had Godfrey. It was so small that the cottage was always dark but in that moment it had become a degree darker.

“Someone was at the window,” I whispered.

In a second or two we were at the door, but there was no one in sight.

“Why,” said Godfrey, “you’re really scared.”

“It’s the thought of being overlooked…when I’m not aware of it.”

“Well, whoever it is can’t be far away.”

We hurried round the cottage, but found no trace of anyone.

“It must have been a cloud passing across the face of the sun,” said Godfrey.

I looked up at the sky. There was scarcely a cloud.

“No one could have got away in time,” he went on. “Roma’s disappearance has unnerved you naturally. It’s made you jumpy.”

I was prepared to concede this. “I shan’t have a moment’s real peace until I know where she is,” I said.

He nodded. “Let’s get out of this place. Let’s have a walk round outside. We can talk as easily there.”

So we went outside and we talked; and after a while I said: “We didn’t look in the outhouse. Someone could have hidden there.”

“If we had we should probably only have found your old oil stove.”

“But I have a strange feeling…”

I didn’t finish. I could see that he was thinking I had imagined the shadow at the window.


* * *

It was a few days later when the startling news was revealed. I had met Godfrey at the cottage, talked there for a while and then taken a walk round the site.

Godfrey was growing more and more certain that the answer to Roma’s disappearance at any rate was to be found here. He enjoyed examining minutely the baths and the pavements, looking, he said, for clues. But I knew he delighted in studying them. I mentioned the light to him and told him that the idea had occurred to me that Roma might have gone there to investigate.

But Roma had disappeared during the afternoon. The light could not have been in evidence then. But had she? What if she had gone out in the afternoon, perhaps for a walk—and returned at dusk, saw the light, investigated.

“It was possible,” agreed Godfrey. “We must go to the ruin one evening and wait for the kindler of the light to appear.”

I thought that might be a little compromising in view of the remarks the girls had made; and I believed that Mrs. Rendall was eying me with attention and suspecting me of what she would call “setting my cap” at the curate.

However I did not comment on this and when I said goodbye to Godfrey we were no nearer solving the mystery of Roma’s death than we had ever been.

I came back to Lovat Stacy and as I entered the hall I heard footsteps behind me. I swung round and came face to face with Napier. He looked very tired and strained.

“I have just come back from London,” he said. “There is news.”

“Of Edith?” I said.

“She is not with Jeremy Brown.”

“Not…” I stared at him.

“Jeremy Brown arrived in East Africa—alone.”

“But—”

“We have been quite wrong,” he said, “to suspect that Edith went off with a lover. She did no such thing.”

“Then what?”

He looked at me blankly. “Who can say?” he whispered.


* * *

But there were those who had much to say. The secret was soon out, and the village was gossiping about it. The vicar received a letter from Jeremy Brown to say that he had arrived safely and was becoming absorbed in his work. So this was further confirmation that he was alone. Edith had not gone with him. Then where was Edith?

Eyes were turned once more on Lovat Stacy. That house, that unlucky house which many said was cursed.

And why was it cursed? Because a man had killed his brother. They called it the curse of Cain. And because he had killed his brother his mother had died, and now his wife had disappeared. Where could she have gone? Who could say? But perhaps there was one who could.

When a wife met some misadventure, the first person open to suspicion was her husband.

I was aware of the mounting feeling against Napier, and it disturbed me deeply—more so, it appeared, than it disturbed him.

There was wild speculation everywhere. I noticed the way in which everyone was avoiding Napier. Mrs. Lincroft’s expression changed when she spoke of him; her lips tightened. I knew she was thinking of what Edith’s disappearance had done to Sir William and was blaming him for it.