There were a few and there was no talk of anything else in the school but the pageant. I threw myself into it with fervour, trying to forget those alarming yet stimulating moments in the Devil's Den. I knew that he had been on the verge of treating me barbarously and I continued to be amazed that the sight of my injuries had had such an immediate effect on him and brought out that little decency which must be in him. Perhaps he had really believed until then that I had wanted him to seize me, to possess me as he had clearly threatened to do. Perhaps I did. Yet, I had made that desperate gesture, almost without thinking, for it would have been quite impossible for me to have escaped by the window.

I could not forget it. It was there in my dreams.

And now Marcia Martindale had gone. What could that mean?

He called at the school and was closeted with Miss Hetherington in her study. I was summoned with Eileen Eccles. I avoided looking at him as much as possible. He asked about my hands and I told him they were recovering fast. We talked about the pageant, and I believe I was quite cool and certainly aloof. He tried to make me look at him and it was almost as though he were pleading for forgiveness.

Daisy went to the gates to see him off and during the next days I did not go out riding alone. I was afraid of meeting him and I kept reminding myself that I must never again be alone with him.

I learned from Teresa that the new maid, Elsa, was voted "very jolly" by most of the girls. She was not like the others. She never complained about untidy bedrooms and, when she knew that Miss Hetherington was going to make an inspection, she had hastened into Charlotte's room and tidied up. They thought that was "very sporting".

She seemed to like that threesome particularly and was always gossiping with Fiona, Eugenie and Charlotte. I was surprised, for Charlotte was not the sort to talk to servants but evidently even she had been won over by Elsa.

"I remember her well," I told Teresa. "She was like that at Schaffenbrucken, a great favourite with the girls."

It must have been about a week after the departure

"Marcia Martindale that the rumours started. Mrs. Baddicombe, I was sure, had kept up her comments on the strangeness of the situation, and en one of the baker's boys delivering to the post office told her that he had driven his cart past Rocks' Rest and seen a lady standing at the door with a child in her arms, Mrs. Baddicombe was determined to wring as much drama as she could from the situation.

The lady seen by the boy was probably Mrs. Coverdale who had a young child, and it was quite natural that she should be at the door holding her youngest child in her arms.

However, Mrs. Baddicombe would not accept such a simple explanation.

"Poor Tom Yeo! He was struck all of a heap. Said his hair stood on end. She was surrounded by a misty light, and she held up her hands as though calling for help."

"I hope she didn't drop the child," I said. "And why didn't Tom Yeo go to help her or at least see what she wanted?"

"Why, bless you, Miss Grant, have you ever tome face to face with that what's not natural?" "No," I admitted.

"If you had, you'd understand. Poor Tom, he just whipped up his horse and got off fast as he could." "But the Coverdales have moved in, haven't they?

"Well, she did go rather sudden, didn't she?" "Mrs. Baddicombe," I said seriously, "You ought to be careful."

She drew herself up and looked at me suspiciously. "Careful? Me? Ain't I always careful?"

"I'd like to know what you're hinting."

"Plain as the nose on your face, Miss. She comes here ... and then when she's not wanted no more ... she goes."

"Not wanted?"

Mrs. Baddicombe smirked. "I read between the lines ..." she said.

"And compose the script," I added angrily. She looked at me blankly.

"Good day, Mrs. Baddicombe," I said.

I was trembling as I stood outside the shop. I thought how foolish I had been. I should now be cut off from the information she had to offer; and although half of it might be false, I wanted to hear what was said.

The extent of my foolishness was obvious when Eileen Eccles met me in the calefactory and said: "You're becoming involved in the dramas of Colby, Cordelia. The Sibyl of the post office whispered to me that she thinks you are `sweet on' Sir Jason Verringer, and she has known for some time that he had his eyes on you, and ain't it a funny thing that poor Mrs. Martindale, who has had her hopes raised for so long, should, as if by magic, disappear when she is not wanted."

"What nonsense!" I said flushing scarlet.

"The trouble with that sort of talk is that it often has an element of truth in it. I certainly think the libidinous Sir J. has had his eyes on you, and there is no doubt that at one time Mrs. Martindale was his very good friend. So far so good. On this flimsy foundation Mrs. B. weaves her fantasies. Nonsense, yes, but founded on a certain fact, and that is where the danger lies."

"You're warning me," I said.

She put her head on one side and regarded me 'with mock seriousness. "You know best what you have to do," she said. "All I can say is that he has a reputation of sorts. There were rumours about his wife's death. Now there are rumours about the disappearance, as they call it, of his lady friend. He is rumour-prone, and in our profession rumour can kill careers. I would advise ... but I expect that you know as well as I do that advice is something to be given freely and taken only if it suits the recipient's inclinations. I'd keep away from him, and after the Kummer holidays it may have died down."

I looked fondly at Eileen. She was a good friend and a sensible woman. I wanted to tell her that I needed no warning. I had decided never to be alone with Jason Verringer again.


Miss Hetherington summoned me to her study. She was so disturbed that she was unable to hide it completely and was slightly less than her usual ruffled self.

"A disgraceful display!" she said. "I've sent for you, Cordelia, because Teresa is your special protégée."

"Teresa! What has she done?"

"She has attacked another girl."

"Attacked!"

"Indeed yes. Physically ... attacked!"

"What girl? Why?"

"The girl in question is Charlotte Mackay. The reason neither of them will say. I expect it is some trivial disagreement, but that a pupil of mine should actually resort to violence ..."

"I can't believe that of Teresa. She is really rather gentle."

"She has been more assertive of late. She threw a shoe at Charlotte Mackay which hit her above the temple. There is quite a deep cut. The girls were frightened when they saw blood and called Miss Parker who happened to be passing."

"Where are they now?"

"Charlotte is lying down. Fortunately it missed her eye. Heaven knows what damage might have been done. As it is, thank God, it is only a cut. Teresa is locked in the punishment room. I shall decide her punishment later. But what shocks me is that there could be such behaviour here. I only hope the parents don't hear of it."

"Shall I go and see Teresa?"

"She is very sullen and refuses to say anything. She sits there with her lips tightly shut having said that Charlotte deserved it."

"Charlotte is, of course, a very aggravating girl. Her character is not the most pleasant and I know that in the past she has teased Teresa a good deal."

"The girl never attacked her before."

"No ..."

"She's got a lot more spirit than she had, and I thought that was a good thing. No... I'm not so sure. Yes, go and see her, and try to find out the reason for this extraordinary and unacceptable conduct."

I unlocked the door of the punishment room. It was a small cell-like place which had been used for storage by the lay brothers. The rather repelling name suited it. There were three desks there and a table and chair. Girls were sent there to learn or write lines, and it was used when an offence was considered more than a venial one.

Teresa was Sitting at one of the desks.

"Teresa!" I cried.

She stood up uncertainly and looked at me almost defiantly.

"Tell me about it," I said. "I'm sure there is an explanation."

"I hate Charlotte Mackay," she said.

"You don't really. She's just a silly arrogant girl most of the time."

"I hate her," she said. "She's wicked."

"Tell me exactly what happened."

She was silent.

"Miss Hetherington wants an explanation, you know."

Still she was silent.

"There must be a reason. Was it perhaps some little thing, and you remembered all your anger with her in the past ...? Was it the last straw?"

She said: "It wasn't little."

"What was it then?"

Again that silence.

"Perhaps if you could explain, Miss Hetherington would understand. She is just, you know. If you have a good reason she will realize that for the moment you lost control. We all know how trying Charlotte can be."

But she would not tell me. I tried again and again but although I was sure of her affection for me I could get nothing out of her.

"She's wicked," was all she would say. "She's wicked and a liar and I hate her. I'm glad I did it."

"Don't tell Miss Hetherington that. You must be penitent and say you're sorry and you must never do such a thing again. I daresay you'll have some lines to write after this. You'll probably have to spend all day tomorrow here doing your penance."

"I don't care. I'm glad I hurt her."

I sighed. That was not the right attitude, and I was very disconcerted that Teresa refused to tell even me what had happened.

I had to go back to Daisy and admit defeat.


Uneasy days passed. Charlotte made the most of her injury. Once I went to her bedroom and found Fiona and Eugenie there with Elsa. They were sitting on the beds laughing.

It was hard to reprove them when I remembered that only a short time ago I might have figured in such a scene at Schaffenbrucken.

I continued to avoid Jason Verringer but I did go out alone sometimes. When I rode into the town I took a long route round so that I did not go too near the Hall. This led me past Rooks' Rest. I saw signs of activity there and guessed the Coverdales were moving in.

I hesitated about going into the post office but should have to do so one day, and the time came when I boldly went in. Mrs. Baddicombe was overjoyed to see me. She showed no rancour over my coldness during our previous encounter. She kept me waiting until she had served two customers and then gave me that lively curious look and leaned over the counter with an air of intimacy.

"Nice to see you, Miss Grant. I hear there's to be grand doings up at the school with that pageant."

"Oh yes," I replied. "It's the anniversary of the building of the Abbey so a rather special occasion."

"Fancy that! All them years ago. I was saying to Mrs. Taylor when she was in this morning that I wondered how the little mite Miranda was getting on. Happy enough, I'll bet. That Jane Gittings dotes on her and so does Ada Whalley."

"Who is Ada Whalley?"

"Jane's sister. The Whalleys lived here in Colby for years. Old Billy Whalley was manager of the cider place. Did well for himself. Brought up on the moors he were and the girls was with their grandmother there when they was little. When he retired he went to the cottage on the moors. His mother was dead then. Jane had married Gittings and Ada went with him to keep house for him. Down at Bristonleigh, it was, right on the edge of the Moor. They were always talking about the Moor, those Whalleys were. Percy Billings was sweet on Ada at one time, but nothing came of it because she had to look after the old man and then Percy all of a sudden marries Jenny Markey."

"Quite a little saga."

"Well so it be, me dear. Ada would have made a good mother. I'll reckon she'll look after that little Miranda, her and Jane Gittings between them. Jane didn't have no children neither. Funny how some 'as 'em and some don't ... and it's more likely them that don't want them as gets them. Look at Sophie Prestwick. Easy to see what she's been up to. There'll have to be a quick wedding there, mark my words. So Sophie larks about and gets caught .. . and them that wants 'em can't get 'em. Take Sir Jason for instance ..."

She was looking at me slyly.

I told her what stamps I wanted, and almost reluctantly she took out her folder and gave them to me.