As I stood in front of my mirror after the encounter with Aunt Clarissa on the stairs, I started to think of Menfreya with a longing which went so deep that it was like a pain.

I was leaning over the banisters. There was music in the front drawing room, but it was almost drowned by the hum of voices and the sudden bursts of laughter. It was as though the house had come to life; it was no longer cold; all these voices, all this laughter changed it.

I was in my flannelette nightgown with a red twill dressing gown over it; my feet were bare, for slippers could betray with the padding sound they made. It was not that any of the servants would have scolded me for peeping over the banisters, but that I liked to pretend I was not the least bit interested in my father’s entertainments.

Sometimes I dreamed that he sent for me and that I went limping into the room. The Prime Minister was there and he talked to me; he and everyone was astonished by my wit and understanding. My father’s eyes were warm and sparkling because he was so proud of me.

What a foolish dream!

That night, as I leaned against the banisters sniffing the beeswax and turpentine with which they were polished, I overheard the conversation between Aunt Clarissa and a man who was a stranger to me. They were talking about my father.

“Quite brilliant…”

“The P.M. seemed to think so.”

“Oh, yes. Sir Edward’s heading for the Cabinet. Mark my words.”

“Dear Edward.” That was Aunt Clarissa, “He deserves a little luck.”

“Luck! I should have thought he had had his share. He must be an extremely wealthy man.”

“He has never been happy since his wife died.”

“He has been a widower now for many years, has he not? A wife would have been useful to him. I wonder … he didn’t marry again.”

“Marriage was such a tragic experience, and in a way, Edward’s a born bachelor.”

“I hear there’s a child.”

I felt my face grow hot with fury at the note hi Aunt Clarissa’s voice as she said: “Oh yes, there’s a child. Henrietta. We call her Harriet.”

“There is some misfortune?”

Aunt Clarissa was whispering; then her voice was loud again. “I often think it was a pity she wasn’t taken and Sylvia left. Having the child killed her, you know. They had only been married a few years, but she was in her late thirties. They wanted a son, of course. And this girl …”

“Still, she must be a compensation to him.”

A cruel laugh. A whisper. Then: “It’s going to be my task to bring her out when the time comes. My Phyllis and Sylvia—named for her aunt—are about the same age, but the difference … ! How I shall find a husband for Harriet I do not know … in spite of the money.”

“Is she so very unattractive?”

“She has nothing … simply nothing.”

Fanny had told me that listeners never hear good of themselves. How right she was! I had heard that I was wicked, that I suffered from tantrums, that I should go to hell. This from my various nannies. But I had never heard anything that was quite so wounding as that conversation between Aunt Clarissa and the unknown man. For long afterwards I could not bear the smell of beeswax and turpentine because I associated it with abject misery.

I could no longer watch, so I left the banisters and sped to my room.

I had already learned that when one is very unhappy it is advisable to turn from one’s sorrow and plan something … anything that will make one forget. How stupid I was to dream as I did, for in those dreams I never saw myself as I actually was. I was always a heroine; even the color of my hair changed. Instead of being dark brown, it was golden; my eyes, instead of being green, were blue; my nose was neat and straight instead of tiptilted in a way which adds piquancy to some faces but merely looked incongruous with my dour expression.

Plan something quickly, I said to myself; and the answer came promptly: They don’t want me here, so I’ll run away.

Where to? There was only one place I wanted to run to. That was Menfreya.

“I’ll go to Menfreya,” I said aloud.

I refused to think of what I should do when I arrived because if I did, the plan would founder right at the start, and I must shut out the sound of cruel voices saying cruel words. I must do something quickly.

I could catch a train from Paddington. I had money in my moneybox which would be enough to buy the ticket, and that was all that mattered. All I had to think of now was getting to Menfreya; when I arrived I would make further plans. I could not stay in this house; every time I walked down the stairs I should hear those voices. Aunt Clarissa was worried about finding a husband for me. Well, I would save her that bother.

When should I go? How could I make sure of not being missed for long enough to be able to get on that train? It needed careful planning.

So while in the drawing rooms below me they listened to the music Papa had provided for the occasion and enjoyed all the delicacies that were served in the supper room, while they talked together of politics and my father’s chances in the Cabinet, I lay in my bed and thought of how I should run away.

My chance came the next day when everyone was weary. There were bad tempers in the kitchen; Miss James was irritable. I always thought that, since reading Jane Eyre, she thought that my father was going to marry her; and after occasions like last night’s party that possibility would seem more remote than usual. She retired to her room at six o’clock complaining of a headache, and this gave me my opportunity, so, calmly putting on my cape with the hood, the money, which I had taken from my moneybox, in my pocket, I slipped out of the house. I boarded an omnibus— the first time I had ever done this alone—and one or two people looked at me curiously, but I pretended to take no notice of them. I knew it was the right omnibus, because it said “Paddington” on the side, so I calmly asked for a ticket to the station. It was easier than I had imagined.

I knew the station because I had been there with Papa, although I had never before been there in the evening. I bought my ticket, but when I was told I had an hour and three quarters to wait before the tram came in, I was horrified. That was the longest hour and three quarters I bad ever known. I sat down on one of the seats near the barrier and watched the people, terrified that at any moment someone would come running in, searching for me.

But no one came, and in time the train was there. I boarded it, finding it very different from traveling first class with Papa. The seats were wooden and uncomfortable, but I was on the train, on my way to Menfreya, and that was all that mattered just at that time.

I sat in my corner seat and no one noticed me. I was thankful that it was night; I dozed and woke up to find we had come as far as Exeter; then I began to ask myself what I was going to do when I reached Menfreya. Was I going to walk into the hall to tell the butler that I had arrived for a visit? I imagined being taken to Lady Menfrey, who would immediately inform my father that I had come. I should be taken back, punished, forbidden ever to do such a thing again. And what would have been gained more than the preliminary excitement of the adventure?

How characteristic of me to rush into something and then ask myself where I was going. I was impulsive and foolish. No wonder they said I was difficult. I was hungry; I was tired and depressed. I wished that I was in my own room, even though Aunt Clarissa might come in at any moment and look at me in that way which told me she was comparing me with Phyllis or one of the others.

By the time we arrived at Liskeard I realized that I had done a very foolish thing. But I could not turn back now. When I traveled with Papa, A’Lee brought the carriage to the station and we drove the rest of the way. Now there was no carriage so I bought a ticket for the branch line. There was a train which met the London express. It was waiting so I hurried to it.

We waited in the station for almost half an hour, which gave me time to plan what I would do. While we made the short journey it occurred to me that, as so few people were on the train, I might be recognized and stopped. Although we didn’t travel on this line, Papa was well known in the district, and I may have been pointed out as his daughter.

At Menfrey stow I left the train. There were not more than a dozen people, and I huddled close to them as we passed the little barrier and lowered my head as I handed in my ticket. I was free. But what now?

I had to make my way to the sea and then walk about a mile along the cliff path. There would be few people out at this hour of the morning.

The little town of Menfrey stow was still sleeping. The winding, high street—which was almost all there was of it— was quite deserted; the curtains were drawn in most of the houses, and the few shops were bolted and barred. I smelt the sea and struck out towards the harbor where the fishing boats were anchored: and as I passed the fish shed where the catch was sold I saw the nets spread out and the lobster pots, and in spite of my uncertainty I experienced a moment of happiness. I always felt as though I belonged here, although I did not. for my father had not rented the house until he became M.P. for Lansella and its district, and that could only have been some six years before. I stepped carefully over the iron rings to which the thick, salty ropes were attached; I told myself I was foolish to have come to the harbor. The fishermen were often about in the early morning, and if I were seen my presence would be reported at once.

I took one of the side alleys and came back into the high street; this time I darted up one of the steep, cobbled turnings, climbed for five minutes, and then I was up on the cliffs.