A few years later he had made another attempt but he had met with all kinds of excuses.

After that nothing had happened.

I paused there, remembering. It all came back to me so clearly. The lighted thatch … the figure in the robe. Had he been the first one to throw the torch? I believed so. I remembered the cottage as it had been. Digory standing at the door with the cat; I could hear the final scream as the poor animal was consumed by the flames. I felt sick, physically and mentally. That people could do such things! They were savage, and yet by the next morning they had returned to their normal guises. One could never know the hidden depth of people’s characters nor how they would act when confronted with certain situations.

I wanted so much to forget that night, but I could not. It had stamped itself indelibly on my mind.

The wind sighed mournfully through the trees; I felt cold though the sun was hot. Memories of those faces in the light of the torches kept coming back to me. The hooded figure which I had believed concealed someone I knew.

I rode home thoughtfully. I felt melancholy. Was it because I was going to be married in the morning? Surely a matter for rejoicing. It was a solemn occasion. Perhaps many girls felt as I did the day before they were taking the great step.

I thought: Maybe it is too soon. I should have waited. But on the moonlit night on the ship when Rolf had told me that he had not been in the woods on that Midsummer’s Eve, it had seemed so right.

He had been to Bodmin. Of course he had. Why had he not said he was going? Why had he not mentioned it until now? How strange that we could go on under a misapprehension for so many years!

I wished I could disperse the memories of that night, but they kept coming back to me: the shouts of the people, Mother Ginny with her grey hair straggling about her ashen face. I could not forget it. Digory cowering in the grass, robbed of his bravado … just a terrified child.

Then I was thinking of Jacco, all the fun we had together, and how that night we had saved Digory. And my misery was back as heartrending as it had ever been.

I wished I could have found Digory. Would that have helped? Digory would be all right, my father had said. He would land on his feet. Heaven knew he had had enough experience of fending for himself.

Why had I gone to the woods on the eve of my wedding? It was a foolish thing to have done.

I must forget that night. I must forget my doubts. They were natural enough. They came to all girls who were on the point of taking such a momentous step.

It was afternoon. I was in my room getting together a few things which I should take on my honeymoon. The house was quiet and I suspected Isaacs was taking a nap, which I believed he did at that hour. Mrs. Penlock too, I supposed.

Suddenly I heard her voice. She was talking to one of the maids. They must be coming in from the kitchen garden for I heard Mrs. Penlock say: “I think that will be enough. Miss Helena pecks like a bird. I don’t think she wants to leave us.”

One of the maids—I think her name was Fanny—said: “You’d have thought she’d have wanted to, wouldn’t ’ee, Mrs. Penlock? It must be wonderful to go up to London.”

Mrs. Penlock gave her familiar snort. “Full of thieves and vagabonds up there, if you was to ask me.”

“’ee don’t say, Mrs. Penlock!”

“I could tell ’ee a few things. Never mind now. We’ve got a wedding on our hands.”

“Miss Annora don’t look like a bride somehow.”

“Be careful of that basket. She’s all right. Best thing that could have happened. She needs someone to look after her. ’Tain’t natural women being left with places like this. It needs a man.”

“He’s lovely, don’t ’ee think so, Mrs. Penlock?”

“He’s all right. Better than one of them smart lahdidahs from London what she might have got hold of.”

I had to listen. I found their views amusing. I guessed they would soon pass out of earshot, but the basket must have been heavy and they were walking slowly: every now and then they paused.

“Soon be part of the Manor,” said Fanny.

“Don’t ’ee say such a thing. Manor’ll be part of us, I reckon. Well, ’tas always been a dream of Mr. Hanson to get his hands on this place.”

“But it’ll be Cador still. ’Twon’t be Hansons.”

“’Course it’ll be Cador, but she’ll be his wife, won’t she? And what’s hers’ is his and I’m not so sure that what’s his is hers. That’s the way of the world. I reckon he be pleased with himself. I remember him coming here years ago … Heard him say to his father, ‘I’d like to have this place.’ I reckon he always meant to own it somehow.”

“But he be sweet on Miss Annora.”

“He is and all. Sweet on her and sweet on Cador, I reckon,” affirmed Mrs. Penlock. “So it’s sweet all round. Come on, Fan. Get a move on. We’ll never get these done in time if you don’t.”

“Don’t ’ee think this wedding’s a good thing then, Mrs. Penlock?”

“I reckon it’s about the best thing that could have happened to him. He’ll have Cador, won’t he, which is what he’s always wanted.”

Their voices were lost to me.

I sat very still. They were right. He had always cared deeply about Cador. He had been fascinated by it. It was the reason why he had restored the decrepit old Manor House. It was the reason why he had acquired land.

And in marrying me he would share it … perhaps own it.

I wished that I had not listened to that conversation.

Helena and I dined quietly that evening. I said I should like to retire early as there was so much to do tomorrow. So we said good night and went to our respective rooms.

My uneasiness was deepening, and try as I might I could not dispel it.

It was a long time before I slept; then I was haunted by dreams from which I kept waking, startled and alarmed. They were jumbled and seemed meaningless when I tried to recall them. My parents were in them with Jacco, Digory and Gregory Donnelly. It seemed to me that they were all warning me, that some great danger was threatening me.

Then I dreamed the most frightening dream of all.

I was in the woods and I saw torches through the trees. I went forward and there was the cottage with the roof aflame and holding the torch which had lighted it was a tall figure in a grey robe. The hood covered his face. I crept up to it. I could feel the heat from the torch and I put out my hand and touched the rough serge of the robe. The figure turned towards me and the hood fell back. Rolf was looking at me. He seized me. “Too late,” he whispered. “Too late. I was there … I am here … now.” He held the torch above my head and I screamed: “Let me go.”

He answered: “No. It is too late.”

“What do you want with me?” I cried.

“Cador,” he said. “I want Cador.”

I awoke. I think I must have cried out. I sat up in bed. I heard the creaking sound of a door opening. It was my cupboard. I caught my breath. It was Rolf, I thought, in the grey robe. He was there, menacing me, ready to step out and seize me as he had in the dream.

But I was not dreaming now.

I sat there, cowering back, my heart feeling as though it would burst out of my body.

“No,” I whispered. “No, no. Go away.”

Nothing happened. But it was there. The robe.

My eyes were growing accustomed to the darkness of the room. Now I could see clearly. I got out of bed. I was almost sobbing in terror. It was not the robe that I saw. The cupboard door had swung open and it was the dress which Jennie had made for me which was hanging there.

It was part of my nightmare but it seemed to have a frightening significance.

I shut the cupboard door firmly and set a chair against it. The catch was weak and a gust of wind would now and then blow it open, which was what had happened now.

That was all. It was just that coming after my dream it was like a symbol; and I thought suddenly: I cannot marry Rolf.

In my heart I did not believe him. He had been there that night. He was not the man I believed him to be. People are not always what one thinks them. I had thought Joe Cresswell was an honourable man and he had made me an accomplice in stealing documents to incriminate Uncle Peter. Uncle Peter had deceived people for years. I felt lost and alone. I had no experience of men. Gregory Donnelly had frightened me with his crude and meaningful glances, but at least I knew him for what he was.

And Rolf? He would not have lied. Or would he? He knew that I had changed after that Midsummer’s Eve. He knew now why. He wanted Cador. He would have lied … for Cador.

And if he were indeed there that night, if it was he who had led on the mob to do that cruel thing, he was not the man I had loved so slavishly in my childhood. But he was kind and gentle, I knew. Part of him was; but people were made up of many parts.

He was obsessed by Cador. He loved the place. I saw the excitement in his eyes when he talked of it. Of course he wanted to marry me. I represented Cador in his eyes.

If I spoke to him, if I tried to explain, he would soothe me. I would believe him for a while … and then the doubts would come.

I could not marry him while I doubted him.

I had promised to marry him when I was not in a fit state to think clearly. I was stunned by the loss of the three people I loved unquestioningly. I had needed loving care and he had been there to offer it. He had given it ardently, it seemed; but was it for Cador?

The servants thought so. He had always wanted it. I remembered those eager conversations when my father was alive and Rolf and his father came to dine with us. He had wanted an estate of his own—and he had acquired one. But it was Cador that he really wanted.