“It’s the way he writes. It’s almost like a threat. I’ve got to go and see him. I think he is still in love with me.”

“It might be blackmail.”

“What do you mean?”

“He may be desperate. What was he doing working as a gardener? Really, Annabelinda, the best thing you can do is tell Marcus everything. Then you will have nothing to fear.”

“How could I tell him!”

“I’m sure he would understand.” I thought of Miss Emma Johns and Janet. How could he judge Annabelinda harshly because she had taken a lover before marriage? He was, of course, what is called a man of the world. I guessed his emotions had not been deeply involved with Janet. So…surely he would understand.

“And then,” she went on, “what about Edward? Isn’t this awful bad luck? All this to come up now I am so happy, and everything is going perfectly.”

“One’s actions do have an effect on one’s life and one cannot be sure that the consequences will make themselves felt only at convenient moments.”

“Stop moralizing! What am I going to do?”

“If you are asking my advice, I would say go to him and explain. If he makes a nuisance of himself, then there is only one thing to be done, and that is tell Marcus.”

“It’s not only Marcus…it’s his family. Just suppose Carl went to them.”

“How would he know about them?”

“How did he know my address? Oh, it was all so wonderful…and now this.”

“Go and see him, Annabelinda. Explain that you are now happily married. He can’t possibly know that there was a child.”

“You’ve never betrayed me, Lucinda.”

“Of course I haven’t.”

“You might have done…” She looked at me tearfully and flung herself at me. “Oh, you are a good friend, Lucinda, and I’m not always good to you. Why do you put up with me?”

I heard myself laugh. “I don’t rightly know,” I said. “But you are Annabelinda, the intimate and tormentor of my youth. I’d always do what I could to help.”

“I don’t deserve it, Lucinda. I really don’t.”

Such an admission really disturbed me. Poor Annabelinda! I had rarely seen her so frightened. The only other time was when I had told her I knew about her indiscretion and Edward’s birth.

I truly wished that I could help her, but there was nothing I could do but advise her, and who could say that my advice was any use?

“Do go and see Carl Zimmerman,” I said. “Explain how you are placed now. Tell him it is finished between you, and say good-bye. If he’s a decent, honorable man, he’ll disappear and won’t bother you again.”

“All right, Lucinda. I’ll do that. I’ll go and tell him.”

I heard nothing from her for several days, and I was growing anxious.

I called at the house.

The parlormaid said that Mrs. Merrivale was resting and asked if she should tell her that I was calling.

I was amazed when the maid returned and told me that Mrs. Merrivale had a headache and was sorry she could not see even me. She would be in touch with me and she was sure that she would have recovered by the next day.

I guessed something was very wrong. It was unlike Annabelinda not to want to talk about her troubles, so I guessed she was very worried indeed.

I returned to the house. Andrée was sitting in the garden with Edward. The London garden was a square patio at the back of the house in which a few flowering shrubs were now beginning to show signs of spring blossoms.

Edward was reading aloud to Andrée in a halting fashion.

“Hello,” said Andrée. “How is Mrs. Merrivale?”

“How did you know I was going to see her?”

“You said you were.”

“Oh, did I? I didn’t see her actually. She isn’t well.”

Andrée smiled. “Do you think…?” She nodded toward Edward.

Pregnant? I thought. It was a possibility, but I thought it was more likely something to do with Carl Zimmerman.

I shrugged my shoulders. “I couldn’t say. She had a bad headache.”

“I suppose she leads rather a busy life, with all the people in military circles she has to see.”

“Perhaps.”

I sat there while Edward went on reading. I was thinking of Annabelinda and Carl Zimmerman. What a big part he had played in our lives, and yet I had seen him so rarely.

I remembered the first time, outside the cubbyhole when he had lost his way. And there was the amazement at seeing him working in the gardens at La Pinière, and lastly in Epping Forest with Andrée.

I said on impulse, “Andrée, do you remember that man in Epping Forest…the fair-haired one who asked the way?”

She looked puzzled.

“You remember…you were with Edward and I met you there.”

“I can recall several people who asked me the way while I was there.”

“This was not long ago.”

“Oh…I vaguely remember. Why? What was so special about him?”

“I just wondered what he said? Did he just ask the way, or any questions…about us…or Mrs. Merrivale? I think Major Merrivale might have been in the hospital at the time…though I’m not sure.”

Andrée continued to look puzzled.

“Questions?” she said. “I don’t remember anyone’s asking questions but the way. Why?”

I thought to myself, I’m being rather foolish, and I said quickly, “Oh…it’s of no importance…no importance at all.”

Annabelinda came to see me the following day. I noticed at once that there was a feverish excitement about her. I thought, Andrée is right; she must be pregnant.

I was in the garden once more with Andrée and Edward. We were playing Edward’s favorite game of the moment, “I spy with my little eye, something beginning with a…” and then the first letter of the object, only Edward was not quite sure of the alphabet just yet, so we used phonetics. “Something beginning with a ‘der’ or a ‘sha’ or ‘ber.’ ”

Edward was saying, “I spy with my little eye, something beginning with a ‘ter.’ ”

We pretended to ponder before one of us suggested it might be the tree…when Annabelinda appeared.

“Oh, hello, Lucinda,” she said rather too heartily. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I really did have the most awful head.”

“Oh, I quite understand.”

“But I did turn you away.”

“That’s all right. You’re better today, I hope.”

“I’m fine.”

Edward said rather reprovingly, “We’re playing ‘I spy.’ ”

“What fun,” said Annabelinda absentmindedly.

“It was something beginning with a ‘fler,’ ” went on Edward.

I looked at Andrée and smiled. We should have to devote ourselves to Annabelinda now that she had arrived. So we brought the game to a timely end by saying the answer must be a flower.

“Yes,” cried Edward, delighted.

“Well, we’ll play again later,” I said. And to Annabelinda, “Why don’t you sit down?” I made way for her on the wicker seat.

“I’ve found the most marvelous house,” said Annabelinda. “You must come with me to see it.”

“Where is it?”

“In Beconsdale Square.”

“Where’s that?”

“Not far from here. I’ve got the cutting. Listen: ‘Country mansion in the heart of London.’ Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“I can’t imagine a country mansion here.”

“That’s because you don’t use your imagination.”

“ ‘Beconsdale Square, Westminster,’ ” Annabelinda went on reading. “ ‘In a quiet London square, large family house built circa 1830. Drive in, garden of about half an acre. Large drawing room, suitable for entertaining, eight bedrooms, four large reception rooms, spacious servants’ quarters…’ Then it goes on for a bit. It sounds just right. I like the sound of the drive in. It sets it apart. I have a feeling that this is the one. I shall go to see the agents and make an appointment to see it. Promise me you’ll come with me, Lucinda.”

“Of course. I’m all agog.”

“I’ll let you know when.”

She was silent for a while. She was sitting still and rather tense.

“Do you feel all right, Annabelinda?” I asked.

“I’m just feeling…not very well. I wonder if I could go and lie down for a while?”

“Of course. Come on.”

I went into the house with her.

“I’ll take you to the room you use when you stay here,” I said.

“Oh, thank you, Lucinda.”

When we were there, she took off her coat, kicked off her shoes and lay on the bed.

“Annabelinda,” I said. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

She shook her head. “Just…not very well.”

“Is it…Carl?”

“Oh, no, no. I’m settling that.”

“You’ve seen him then? You’ve told him that you can’t see him anymore?”

“Yes, I’ve seen him. It’s just that…”

“Do you feel sick?”

She nodded.

“Are you…pregnant?”

“It…it could be.”

“Well then, rest a little. It’ll soon pass. I’ll stay with you.”

“No…no, Lucinda. You go back to the garden. I’ll be all right. I feel I just want to be quiet…alone. It’ll pass, I know.”

“All right. If there’s anything you want, just ring. Meg will come up.”

“Oh, thank you, Lucinda. I’d feel better if you went back to the garden and there was no fuss. I’ll feel better, I know I shall. It doesn’t take long for this to pass.”

“So you’ve had it before?”

“Once or twice. I hope it’s not going to be a regular thing.”

“It’s only in the first weeks, I’ve heard.”

“Thank you, Lucinda.”

I went out and rejoined Andrée and Edward in the garden. We must have been there for about half an hour when Annabelinda came out.

She looked better, relieved, I thought.

“How are you?” I asked.

“Oh, I’m all right now.”

“You look flushed.”

“Do I?”

“Well, you’re all right. That’s the main thing.”

“Yes. I’m all right now. I’m sorry it happened.”

“Never mind. Tell us about the house.”

“It really seems that this will be it,” she said.

“Annabelinda! All you’ve seen is this advertisement.”

“I have a feeling in my bones.”

“What does the major say about it?” asked Andrée.

“Oh, he doesn’t know. I want to find the house and then take him along and show him how wonderful it is. It seems just right. Secluded. It’s not easy to be secluded in London. It will be wonderful for entertaining. The war must be over one day. It can’t go on forever. Then this will be just what we need.”

When she left I walked back with her. “Just in case you don’t feel well on the way back,” I told her.

“Oh, Lucinda, you do take good care of me.”

“I always have in a way, you know. You think you are the worldly-wise, clever one, but when you come to think of it, I have looked after you far more than you have me. Yet you always behave as though I’m the simple one.”

“Forgive me, Lucinda. I wish I had been better to you.”

“I can’t understand you, Annabelinda…and I think it is for the first time in your life. You’re becoming human.”

She laughed, and when we reached the house she said, “Come in for a while.”

“Thanks, I don’t think I will. I ought to get back.”

“All right. And thank you…for being such a good friend.”

Changed indeed, I thought, as I walked home.

Perhaps it was because she was contented in her marriage and she was going to have a child. Motherhood changed people, softened them; and this pregnancy, unlike that with Edward, would be a happy one.

She must be thankful that she had come to this happy state.

There was an account in the paper of a derelict farmhouse along the coast three miles from Folkestone which had been the scene of an explosion. There was no explanation as to what had caused this.

There were comments from the local people. “ ‘I heard the noise. Deafening, it was, and then I saw the flames. The place went up like a matchbox on fire.’ ”

The verdict was that it was an example of wanton arson. There were no casualties.

My father asked me to meet him in his study, and when I arrived he shut the door and said, “I want to talk to you, Lucinda. You are absolutely sure no one has been in here? You have had the key in your possession all the time?”

“Yes.” I pulled out the chain and showed him the key. “It has been with me all day and night.”

“I don’t think any strangers have been in the house this last week.”

“I am sure not.”

“I must explain to you. You know everything is speeding up over there. The Germans are getting desperate. They firmly believed that they would have brought the war to a satisfactory conclusion long before this. The fighting on the Somme has been fierce. As you know, our factories are working at top speed. We have the arms now, and the only difficulty is getting them over there. The enemy is determined to stop them from reaching their destinations. It is vital for them to do so. They have to be stored in arms deposits before we can ship them across the Channel. The site of these storehouses is only known to a few, and certain information is leaking. It seems to come from me. I set a trap.”