Once we were seen there and when this was reported to the tutor who was coaching Philip at the time, we were forbidden to go; but this naturally only made the place more desirable, and it became a meeting place for us. "See you at Dead Man's Leap," Philip would say casually, half hoping I would be afraid to go there by myself. I always went when thus challenged, although I was a little scared, for the place did have an eerie atmosphere, particularly when one was there alone.

Time started to pass very quickly, but there was one other incident in our childhood which brought me notoriety and I think I did give Cousin Agatha the justification to be rid of me. I was fourteen—at an age when I should have known better. Philip was fifteen and this happened in the country.

Philip wanted to have tea out of doors. We would make a fire and boil a kettle on it and live like Indians or Gypsies—he wasn't sure which it would be—whatever seemed best at the time. The great thing was to make a fire. We needed a kettle, which I had to bring.

"There are lots in your kitchen," said Philip. "There must be. Bring some tea and water in a bottle, and cakes. And we'll make a fire."

I made Esmeralda get the cakes from the kitchen and I got the kettle. Philip was bringing paraffin, which he said was fine for making fires.

"We'd better be Gypsies," he said. "We've kidnapped Esmeralda. She has been spirited out of her house and we'll tie her up and ask a ransom for her."

Esmeralda wailed: "Can't I be a Gypsy?"

"No, you can't," said Philip tersely. Poor Esmeralda! She was always cast for the victim.

The outcome of that adventure was that we had reckoned without the paraffin. Philip had collected some bracken and poured the oil liberally over it. The blaze first delighted us and then alarmed us. We couldn't get near it, and Esmeralda, both her ankles tied together, a gag over her mouth, very uncomfortable and longing to be allowed to play another part, was very near to it.

We tried to beat out the flames but they spread. I had the foresight to untie Esmeralda and by that time it seemed as though the whole field was ablaze.

There was nothing to be done but call for help. All the servants were busy trying to beat it out and to prevent its spreading to the cornfields.

There was great trouble about that.

"And on the Carringtons' land," said Cousin Agatha, as though we had desecrated some sacred temple. It was fortunate that one of the Carringtons had been involved but Cousin Agatha laid most of the blame on me.

I heard her say to Cousin William: "It is quite clear that Ellen is unmanageable. Into what disaster she will lead Esmeralda next I tremble to think."

I was given another lecture.

"You are now fourteen years of age. An age when many girls without means have been earning a living for some years. We do not forget that there is a family connection and for that reason we have tried to be good to you. But the time is coming very near, Ellen, when you will have to think of your future. Neither Mr. Loring nor I would wish to turn you adrift, and we shall do all we can to help you in spite of the manner in which you have so often repaid us. Yet this last disastrous escapade makes me feel again that our efforts have been wasted. You show a deplorable lack of discipline. You must be punished. The rod would be desirable. I have told Mr. Loring that it is his duty to administer it and he will be coming to your room to perform this painful duty. In addition you will begin a new sampler, which I myself shall inspect every week. The verse you learn will be 'Blow, blow, thou winter wind! Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude.' "

What she went on to say was even more depressing.

"I have been discussing your future with Mr. Loring and we agree that you must now be prepared to earn your own living. After all, you cannot expect to live on our bounty forever. You have been allowed to be a companion for Esmeralda—not a very good influence alas and one which I have so often thought she would have been better without—but in a few years a husband will be found for her and she will have no further need of your companionship. Mr. Loring and I do not forget that you belong to the family and therefore we should not throw you out into the world indiscriminately. We shall find the right post for you at the right time, for it is inconceivable that any member of our family should take a menial position. Governess or companion is all we would consider. Our circle of acquaintances is large and we hope in due course to find the right post for you. It is not as simple as you might think, for we would not wish you to be in a household which we might visit. That could be most embarrassing. So you see we shall have to choose the place with the utmost care. Meanwhile, you should prepare yourself. Study hard. Work harder especially with your needlework. I'll speak to the governess about that. Then when Esmeralda comes out and marries we shall hope to have the post ready for you. Now I trust you are in a contrite mood. Take your punishment, for you richly deserve it, and go to your room. Mr. Loring will come to you there."

Poor Cousin William! I was sorry for him. He came gingerly holding a cane with which he was to chastise me. He hated the task. I had to lie face down on my bed while he lightly tapped the cane about my thighs, which made me want to laugh.

He was red in the face and uncomfortable. Then he said suddenly: "There, I trust that has taught you a lesson."

It was comforting to be able to laugh at Cousin William, for I was feeling very uneasy about the future.

That night was one of the occasions when I dreamed again about the room with the red carpet, from which I awoke with the feeling of doom.

The years sped away. My eighteenth birthday came and went. The time when I must go into the world and earn my own living was coming nearer and nearer. Esmeralda used to comfort me. She would say: "When I'm married, Ellen, you shall always have a home with me."

I didn't envy Esmeralda. It would have been impossible to do that. She was so mild; it was true she had grown a little pretty, but I couldn't help noticing that when we were out together it was at me that people glanced. My black hair and dark blue eyes were striking and my "inquiring" nose, as Philip called it, made it seem as though I was asking a question. But at least her future was secure. We saw it happening all around us: Girls coming out into society, marriages arranged for them, becoming matrons with young children. It was all most carefully planned.

It was different for those who had to fend for themselves, as I should have to.

There had been one or two minor incidents when I had aroused the indignation of Cousin Agatha, but nothing so startling as the visit to the market or setting fire to Carrington land. When we were in the country we had to do more social work. We visited the poor and took them what Cousin Agatha called "delicacies"—usually something which she would not consider worthy of her own table; we decorated the church for harvest festival just before we left for London; we went to the gymkhana and church bazaars, where we had our own stalls. We played the parts of helpers of Lady Bountiful and in town we rode in the Row and at Cousin Agatha's At Homes we helped pass round the refreshments; we sewed for the poor; we worked for the Tories; we walked sedately in the Park and lived the lives of genteel young ladies. But then there was a subtle change. It was nearing the time when Esmeralda should come out and we were beginning to be segregated. Esmeralda was taken to the theater with her parents, and I did not accompany them. Often she went visiting with her mother now and I was left behind. The dressmaker who over the years had taken up residence in the house for several weeks at a time when there were functions ahead now settled in for a spell and worked on lovely new clothes for Esmeralda. There was nothing extra for me—only one spring, summer, autumn and winter dress—one new one per year.

I could feel that vague doom coming nearer. It was as in the dream.

Esmeralda was a little bewildered; she disliked going anywhere without me, but I was rarely with her now except for those walks in the Park and the charity visits.

The Carringtons loomed large in our lives. They were Cousin Agatha's closest friends. Lady Emily's name was mentioned twenty times a day.

Philip was often a member of a family party and he, with Esmeralda, visited the theater with Cousin Agatha and Cousin Wil­liam. The play was Lady Windermere's Fan, which had been produced for the first time in February at the St. James's Theatre. I had heard that although it was a light comedy it sparkled with wit and amusing epigrams. I guessed that Esmeralda would not see the point of it.

I watched them leave in the carriage and I saw them come back. When Esmeralda came up I waylaid her and made her tell me about the play. She gave me a brief outline of the plot and she said that Philip had laughed the whole way through. They had had supper afterwards and it had been very jolly. She looked quite pretty in a powder-blue gown and her blue velvet cloak. I longed for such a cloak, but most of all to go to the theater and laugh with Philip.

The next day we walked in the Park with Nanny Grange, who was still with us. She would probably go with Esmeralda when she married to look after her children, for Cousin Agatha felt it was good to keep nannies in the family. One could then rely on their loyalty. Besides, all the best people did it.

Now that we were older Nanny Grange always walked a few sedate paces behind us like a watchdog and if any young men came near us she would quicken her pace and be there abreast of us. It always amused me.