The tea was made. "I always stir it," she told me, "and let it stand five minutes. It's the only way to get the right brew. Warm the pot, I used to say to Miss Ruth . . ."

"That's Lady Travers," explained Tabitha and this remark brought forth another venomous glance.

"And the tea must go into a dry pot," went on Janet Tester. "That's very important."

She purred as she poured out the tea.

"Well, I hope you'll be happy, my dear," she said. "Tybalt used to be such a good boy."

"Used to be?" I asked.

"When he was a little one he was always with me. He was his mother's boy then. But when he went away to school and started to grow up he turned to his father."

She shook her head sadly.

"Tybalt had a natural bent for archaeology right from the start," explained Tabitha. "This delighted Sir Edward, and naturally Tybalt had so many advantages because of his father."

Janet Tester was stirring the spoon round and round in her cup. I could sense an uneasy atmosphere.

"And now you're going to marry him," she said. "How time flies. It seems only yesterday I was playing peekaboo with him."

The thought of Tybalt's playing peekaboo was so funny that I couldn't help laughing. "He's come a long way since then," I said.

"I hope it's not on the road to ruin," said Janet Tester stirring fiercely.

I looked at Tabitha who had lifted her shoulders. I decided then that Tybalt's and his father's profession was not a happy subject so I asked about his childhood.

That pleased her. "He was a good boy. He didn't get into all that much mischief. Miss Ruth doted on him. He was her boy all right. I've got some pictures."

I reveled in them. Tybalt sitting on a furry rug all but in the nude; Tybalt a wondering two year old; Tybalt and Sabina.

"Isn't she a little pet?" doted Nanny Tester.

I agreed. "Such a little chatterbox. Never stopped."

I remarked that it was a trait which had remained with her.

"Little minx!" said Nanny Tester fondly.

There was a picture of Tybalt, standing beside a rather pretty woman with a lot of fluffy hair who was holding a baby on her lap. "There they are with their mother. Oh, and here's Tybalt at school." He was holding a cricket bat. "He wasn't good at sports," said Nanny Tester in a disappointed voice. "It started to be all study. Not like Sabina. They all said she couldn't concentrate. But of course he walked off with all the prizes. And then Sir Edward who'd scarcely noticed the children before, started to prick up his ears."

She conveyed her feelings by so many gestures—the tone of her voice, a contemptuous flick of the hand, a turning down of the lips, a half closing of the eyes. I had been with her a very short time but I had learned that she disliked Tabitha, and Sir Edward; she had adored Miss Ruth and while Tybalt, the child, had qualified for her devotion I was not so sure how she regarded the man.

I was interested—greatly so—and I did get the impression that had Tabitha not been with me, I should have understood so much more about Janet Tester.

I sensed Tabitha's relief when we could politely leave; Tabitha went on ahead of me and Janet suddenly caught my hand in hers when we were in the little hall. Her fingers were dry and strong.

"Come again, Miss Osmond," she said, and whispered: "Alone."

As we descended the stairs I said: "What a strange little woman!"

"So you sensed that."

"I thought she was not exactly what she seemed. At times she was so gentle—at others quite the reverse."

"She has a bit of an obsession."

"I gathered that. Miss Ruth, I suppose."

"You know what these old nurses are like. They are like mothers to their charges. Far closer to them than their own mothers. She disliked Sir Edward. I suppose she was jealous and because her Miss Ruth had no interest in his work she blamed him for doing it. Very illogical as you can see. Tybalt's mother wanted him to go into the Church. Of course he was quite unsuited to that profession and from an early age had made up his mind to follow his father. Sir Edward's delight more than made up for Lady Travers's—and Janet's —disappointment. But they bore a grudge against Sir Edward for it. I'm afraid Lady Travers was a rather hysterical woman and I've no doubt she confided a great deal in Janet who could see no wrong in her. It was a disastrous marriage in many ways—although Lady Travers brought a big fortune with her when she married."

"Money again," I said. "It's odd how that subject seems to crop up continually."

"Well, it's a very useful commodity, you must admit." "It seems to have a big part to play in certain marriages." "That's the way of the world," said Tabitha lightly. "It's good to be out of Janet's rooms. They stifle me."

Later I thought a good deal about that encounter. I understood Janet's dislike of Sir Edward, but I did wonder why she felt so strongly—and her attitude had betrayed to me that she did—about Tabitha.

The weeks before my wedding were flying past. Dorcas and Alison wanted quite a celebration. They seemed so relieved that they no longer had to preserve the secret of my birth that they were almost like children let out of school. Moreover, anxieties for the future had been swept away. The cottage was theirs; I was going to give them an allowance; my future was settled although—in spite of their efforts to hide this—they had misgivings about my bridegroom. Tybalt had little to say to them and their meetings were always uneasy. When I was present I would keep the conversation going but when I went out of the room and returned I would be aware of the awkward pauses when none of them had anything to say. Yet they could chatter away to Oliver naturally about parish affairs and with Evan would talk of the old days and the pranks we used to get up to.

Tybalt was always so relieved when he and I were alone. I was so besottedly in love, always making the affectionate gesture, that his lack of demonstrativeness was not so noticeable as it might have been. Sometimes we would sit close together looking at plans, his arm about me while I nestled close and asked myself whether this was really happening to me; but the conversation was almost always of the work he and his father had been doing.

Once he said: "It's wonderful to have you with me, Judith." And then he added: "You're so absolutely keen. I never knew anyone who was so exuberantly enthusiastic as you."

"You are," I said. "Your father must have been."

"But in a quieter way."

"But very intense," I said.

He kissed me then lightly on the forehead. "But you express yourself so forcefully," he said. "I like it, Judith. In fact I find it wonderful."

I threw my arms about him and gathered him to me as I used to Dorcas and Alison. I hugged him and cried: "I'm so happy."

Then I would tell him about how I had decided to hate him when Sabina had spoken of him in such glowing terms. "I imagined you stooped and wore spectacles and were pale with lank greasy hair. And then you burst upon us, in the mummy room, looking fierce and vengeful like some Egyptian god come to wreak vengeance on one who had desecrated the old sarcophagus."

"Did I really look like that?"

"Exactly—and I adored you from that moment."

"Well, I must remember to look fierce and vengeful sometimes."

"And that you should have chosen me ... is a miracle."

"Oh Judith, surely you are too modest."

"Far from it! As you know, I used to dream about you . . . how you suddenly discovered my worth."

"Which I did in due course."

"When did you discover it?"

"When I knew that you had come to borrow the books and were so interested. Or perhaps it began when I saw you emerging from those bandages. You looked as though you had suffered a fatal accident rather than embalmment. But it was a good effort."

I took his hand and kissed it.

"Tybalt," I said, "I am going to look after you all the days of your life."

"That's a comforting thought," he said.

"I'm going to make myself so important to you that you will hate every moment you spend away from me."

"I've reached that stage already."

"Is it true? Is it really true?"

He took my hands in his. "Understand, Judith, I lack your powers of expression. Words flow from you expressing your innermost thoughts."

"I know I speak without thinking. I'm sure you never do."

"Be patient with me."

"Tell me one thing. Are you happy?"

"Do you think I'm not?"

"Not completely."

He said slowly: "I have lost someone who was closer to me, until you came, than anyone else in the world. We worked together; we would be thinking along the same lines together often without speaking. He is dead, and he died suddenly. He was there one day and the next he was stricken down . . . mysteriously. I mourn him, Judith. I shall go on mourning him for a long time. That is why you must be patient with me. I can't match your exuberance, your pleasure in life. My dear, dear Judith, I believe that when we are married I shall begin to grow away from this tragedy."

Then I put my head against him and kept my arms tightly about him.

"To make you happy, to give you something to replace what you have lost . . . that shall be my mission in life."

He kissed my head.

"Thank God for you, Judith," he said.

There was a little friction between Tybalt and the aunts over the wedding. This, said Alison firmly, could not take place until a "reasonable" time had elapsed since the deaths of Sir Edward and Sir Ralph.