“Certainly I could. Well, fancy that. Who’d have thought of Ennis Masterman having young lady visitors, from London!”

We finished breakfast and went immediately to the stables. We saw the mares to which the landlady had referred. We said they would suit us beautifully and, with the landlady’s instructions, we were soon on our way.

“What triumph!” said Marie-Christine. “When she told us about the gate’s being destroyed, I could have hugged her. It explains why all those people didn’t know the place. Noelle, we are on our way.”

I was more subdued. Marie-Christine would not feel my emotions, naturally. Suppose our conjecture proved to be correct and I was going to meet the father whom I had never met before? On the other hand … suppose we were quite wrong, and were going to crash into someone’s private life?

My feelings were in a turmoil.

The landlady’s instructions were clear. We passed the little hamlet she had described. It was just a row of houses, a village store and a church. It was necessary to follow the directions very closely. I could see how easily one could lose oneself on the moor.

“If we are on the right track,” I said, “Garth should be behind that slight hillock over there.”

We had rounded the hillock, and there it was—a long grey stone building, lonely, rather stark and desolate.

We rode over to the gate. “Garth,” we both said aloud. “This is it.”

We dismounted and tied our horses to a post near the gate. We went through the gate to the piece of land in front of the house. It could hardly be called a garden. There were no flowers, only a few overgrown shrubs.

“Isn’t it exciting?” said Marie-Christine with a little shiver.

There was a knocker on the door. I lifted it and let it fall. It sounded very loud in the silence. We waited breathlessly. There was no response.

After a while I tried again.

“There’s no one here,” I said.

“He’s out. He lives here. That’s obvious. He’ll come sooner or later.”

“We’ll wait for a while and see if he does,” I said.

We walked down the path and out through the gate. There was a stone block nearby and we sat on this.

“Perhaps he’s gone away for days … for weeks,” I suggested.

“Oh no,” cried Marie-Christine. “I could not bear that. He’s gone to that little village we passed. He’d have to get stores, wouldn’t he? We’ll find him. This is just making it a little more difficult, that’s all.”

We waited for an hour, and just as I was going to suggest we must go, he came.

He was driving a pony and trap, and Marie-Christine must have been right when she had guessed that he had gone to the village for stores.

He pulled up in amazement when he saw us sitting on the boulder, and then he leaped out of the trap. He was tall and slim.

His face was pleasant rather than handsome. There was a gentleness about him which I noticed even in those first moments.

We went towards him, and I said: “I hope you don’t mind our calling. My name is Noelle Tremaston.”

The effect on him was instantaneous. His eyes were fixed on me, and he was trying hard to control his features. Then a flush came into his face. He said slowly: “You are Daisy’s daughter. I am glad you have come.”

“Yes,” I said. “I am Daisy’s daughter. And this is Mademoiselle du Carron. She has lived with me since she lost her family in the siege of Paris.”

He turned to Marie-Christine and said it was a pleasure to meet her.

“We found your address in my mother’s bureau,” I said.

“Only it was Meningarth,” put in Marie-Christine.

“It was called that a long time ago, and then it was changed.”

“We thought we would like to talk to you,” I said, “when we knew that you had been a friend of my mother.”

“Of course. And what am I thinking of? Come in. I’ll deal with the trap.”

“Can we help you?” I said.

He looked bemused. “That’s kind of you. First I must unload.”

He unlocked the door, and I thought how strange it was that I should begin my acquaintance with the man who might turn out to be my father by carrying a bag of flour into his kitchen.

I was quickly aware of the primitive nature of the cottage. I had noticed a well at the back of the overgrown garden. In the stone-floored kitchen, there was just a wooden table, a cupboard, a few chairs and an oil stove on which he presumably cooked.

When the stores had been brought in, he took us into a sort of sitting room which was very simply furnished. There was no attempt at adornment. Everything was for use.

He asked us to sit down and I realized how difficult it was for him to keep his eyes from me.

“I do not know where to begin,” I said. “I want to talk to you about my mother. You knew her …”

“Yes, I knew her.”

“It must have been a long time ago.”

He nodded.

“Did she live here?”

“Near here. In the village. You must have passed it. Carrenforth. It’s about half a mile from this place.”

“I suppose she was very young then.”

“She was about fourteen years old when I first saw her. I came here from the university. I did not know what I wanted to do. So I decided to take a walking tour over the moors. My home was some way off … on the other side of the Duchy. My inclination was to live the simple life. I love music, but I felt I was not gifted enough to make it a profession. I had a great desire to be a sculptor. I had done a little … but I was very uncertain.”

Marie-Christine was growing impatient, I sensed. She said: “We found letters in a bureau.”

He looked at her blankly.

“They came from you.”

“She kept them,” he said, smiling.

“Three of them,” I said. “I’m sorry. We read them.”

“We were clearing out things,” said Marie-Christine. “They were in a secret drawer in the bureau.”

“So she kept my letters,” he repeated.

“These seemed to be rather important ones,” I said. “They mentioned a child. I think I may be that child. I want to be sure.”

“It is very important,” said Marie-Christine.

He was thoughtful for a few seconds. Then he said: “Perhaps it would be better if I began at the beginning … I mean, I should tell you the whole story.”

“Yes. If you would, we should be grateful.”

“She had told me so much about Noelle, her daughter. I am a little bemused, I fear. It was so sudden. So unexpected … seeing you like this. It is something I always wanted … but I think you will understand better if I tell you from the beginning … as I remember it.”

“Thank you. Do please tell us.”

“I was born in Cornwall—some way from here, just over the border in fact, on the Cornish side of the Tamar. I was the minister’s son. There were six of us, two boys and four girls. Money was short, but my father firmly believed in getting the best education for his children, and somehow I got to the university. I was a moderately good scholar, but as I grew older, I was a disappointment. I did not know what I wanted to do. I had certain enthusiasms, but they were not the sort which would earn money and repay my family for all the sacrifices they had made for me.

“I loved music. I played the violin tolerably well, but I could not see myself earning a living at that. I was deeply interested in sculpture. I was torn between my duty and inclination.

“So I came on this walking tour. I wanted to be quiet … alone. To get right away from everything and everyone and plan. I stayed at the Dancing Maidens, intending to be there for a night or two.

“I wanted to take a look at the stone maidens and I set out one afternoon. It was a strange brooding sort of day. There was not a breath of wind, and the clouds were louring. As I approached the stones, I saw a young girl. I knew something of Cornish folklore, having been brought up in the Duchy. I was perhaps influenced by that, and a little superstitious, but as I came near, I thought one of the stones had come to life and she was dancing. She was so beautiful, so graceful, she seemed to be floating on air. I thought I had never seen anything so enchanting.

“I stood watching in wonder. Suddenly she was aware of me. She turned towards me and began to laugh. It was my first sight of Daisy. Nobody laughs quite like Daisy.”

“No,” I said. “No one ever did.”

“She called out: ‘You thought I was one of the maidens come to life, didn’t you? Confess.’

” For the moment … yes,’ I replied.

” ‘You new here?’ she asked.

” ‘Yes. On a walking tour,’ I told her.

“She asked me if I came there often, and I told her it was my first time and I had only arrived that morning and was trying to make up my mind about something.

” ‘What?’ she asked.

” ‘My career. The work I’m going to do.’

” ‘I know what I’m going to do,’ she said. ‘I’m going to dance. I’m going to be famous. I’m never going to be poor and a nobody. I’m going on the stage.’

“I remember that conversation so well. I stayed on at the Dancing Maidens because I wanted to meet her again. She fascinated me. She was a child one moment and a woman the next. I had never known anyone combine innocence and worldliness as Daisy did. She was fourteen and I some ten years older. She was radiant. I never before knew anyone so beautiful. It was all there … in bud, you might say, waiting to spring into its full glory.

“We used to meet by the stones every day. It was not exactly an arranged meeting, but each of us knew the other would be there. She liked to talk to me. I supposed it was because I liked to listen. The theme of the conversations was always Escape. She was going to sing and dance her way to fame. It struck me at the time that she was everything I was not. I wanted to escape from life. She wanted to escape to it. I soon learned from what she wanted to escape. I learned something about the life she lived there. It had been wretched. That was why she was going to get away and never come back. She lived with her grandparents and she hated them. They killed my mother,’ she said. They would kill me if they could.’