Jemima Cray did not, however, share the child’s enthusiasm; but sometimes I would find Bridget in the garden, alone with Mary the nursery maid, then I would spend some time with her. Mary seemed almost conspiratorial at such times, which bothered me a little. It seemed such an odd situation. Why had I not met the child, as I surely should have done in normal circumstances? Bridget herself was normal enough. Mary was always watchful during these sessions in the grounds, and I knew it was because she was afraid that Jemima Cray would suddenly descend upon us.

So I happily packed my bag and set forth, full of that expectation which I always felt at the prospect of a visit to the Grange.

Lucian met me at the station as usual, and we set off in high spirits.

Lady Crompton now greeted me with even more friendliness than she had shown when I first appeared. I think she was rather pleased to have a visitor whom she did not have to treat with too much ceremony. She told me at great length about her rheumatism and how it prevented her from doing as much as she had in the past. She enjoyed that topic and I was a good listener. Then she liked to hear about Australia and the various places round the world which I had visited.

Lucian was pleased and amused by her pleasure in my company.

“My mother does not get on so well with everybody,” he commented with a grin.

Camilla had been there once or twice, and she and I had become friends. She told me how life at the Grange had changed in the last years.

“There used to be a great deal of entertaining when my father was alive,” she said.

“Lucian doesn’t seem to have the same taste for it. In fact, everything seemed to change when he married.”

On the Saturday, Lucian and I went riding. He had several calls to make round the estate and I fancied he liked me to go with him. I was beginning to know some of the workers and tenants, which I found interesting.

I was not sure whether I imagined it or whether I really did intercept some significant looks. People often began speculating when they saw a man and a woman together enjoying each other’s company. Did some of these people wonder whether I should be the next Lady Crompton, or was I thinking that, because of James and Lawrence, every man who showed me friendship was thinking of asking me to marry him? People are inclined to imagine that when a young man is unmarried, he must be in need of a wife. That was by no means a certainty and when one has had an unsatisfactory experience, there would be a certain wariness at the prospect of repeating it, I had a notion that that was how Lucian felt, and I must confess that I found those sly looks a little disconcerting.

We had returned to the Grange. Lucian leaped down from his horse to assist me to dismount. He looked up at me and smiled as he took both my hands.

There was a decided pause and I could not quite interpret the expression in his eyes, but it was very warm.

He said: “I can’t tell you how glad I am that you came back, Carmel.”

“So am I,” I answered.

I heard a footstep close at hand and, looking beyond Lucian, I saw Jemima Cray walking close to the stable on her way to the house.

Just before I went to dinner that evening, I paid a visit to the nursery to see Bridget. When I entered the room she ran to me and clasped my knees. It was an endearing habit she had. Then she wanted me to sit on the floor with her and form the bricks to make a picture. There were pigs and oxen, sheep and cows; she was very fond of these picture puzzles. She was an enchanting child. I wondered afresh why Lucian never mentioned her. Well, she had the enigmatic Jemima Cray, whom she obviously loved, and there was no doubt of Jemima’s devotion to her.

While we sat there, Jemima appeared. I knew she would find some excuse to separate me from Bridget. She definitely did not like my friendship with the child.

To my surprise, she said quite affably: “Good afternoon, Miss Sinclair. I wonder if I could have a word with you?”

“But of course,” I replied.

“Mary, take Miss Bridget into her bedroom. She can have her milk there. You can get it for her. Not too hot, mind.”

Mary looked at the clock on the wall. Like her, I knew the nursery ritual. It was too soon for Bridget’s milk.

“Do as you are told,” said Jemima in a voice which must be obeyed; and Mary prepared to carry out the order.

Bridget protested.

“No,” she said.

“No, no.”

“Now, pet,” said Jemima in gentler tones.

“You go with Mary. You’re going to have some nice milk.”

Bridget was taken out, still protesting, and I was flattered by her reluctance to leave, but all the same eager to hear what Jemima had to say.

“Well, Miss Sinclair,” she said as soon as we were alone.

“I’d like a word in your ear. I only speak because I think it’s right and proper that you should not be in the dark.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“Things are not always what they seem, you know.”

“Indeed, I know that.”

She put her face close to mine, assuming an air of wisdom. Her eyes were small and too closely set together. I thought she looked like a witch.

“I think you are a good, respectable young lady and you should not be deceived.”

“It is the last thing I want,” I said.

“I should like to be enlightened in whatever way you think.”

She nodded.

“There is one who should be here now, and would be … but for what others did to her. If anyone was thinking of taking her place, I reckon they ought to think twice before they took that step.”

I felt myself flushing, and I said: “I don’t understand what you are implying, Miss Cray.”

“I think you do,” she said severely.

“All I am trying to do is drop a word in your ear. It’s for your good. She married into this place and, before a year was out, she was dead and before she came here she was a merry, lighthearted little thing.”

“You are referring to … ?”

“My Miss Laura, that’s who.”

“I understood she died giving birth to Bridget.”

“Poor mite. She never ought to have been put through it. He knew that and yet he made her. There had to be a child … a son, I suppose.

The family and all that nonsense. She knew it was dangerous. I knew.

But it had to be. It was pitiful to see her. Frightened, she was. She said to me: “Jemima, you’ll always stay and look after my baby when I’m gone, won’t you? You’ll look after my baby, just as you’ve looked after me.” And I swore I would. Oh, it was wicked. It was cruel.”

I said: “It was very sad that she died, but it does happen sometimes.”

Her face hardened.

“There’s some as would say it was murder,” she said.

“Miss Cray!” I said.

“You must not make such insinuations. It’s quite wrong. It is natural for people to have children when they marry.”

“He knew, just as she knew. But it had to be. Oh, he knew well enough and I reckon that’s the same sort of thing as murder. And nothing will make me change my mind. That’s the sort he is. And people should know it.” She rose and in a matter-of-fact voice went on: “Well, I must go and see to Bridget. You can’t trust that Mary with much.”

She turned away. I called after her.

“Come back. Miss Cray. I want to talk to you.”

She was at the door. She turned and said: “I’ve said my piece. I know what happened. I saw it all. I know just how it was.” Her face was distorted with venom and hatred, and I knew it was directed against Lucian.

I said to myself: She’s mad. But I was very shaken.

The memory of Jemima stayed with me. I found it hard to stop thinking of what she had said and the expression on her face when she had talked of murder.

She was warning me. She had seen me with Lucian in the stables.

Murder, she had said. She was accusing Lucian of that because his wife had died in childbirth. She meant:

Do not become involved with him. He knew Laura was unfit to bear a child and yet he insisted. Such a man is capable of anything . murder of any kind . to achieve his ends.

I thought again: The woman must be mad. Indeed, there was a hint of fanaticism in her eyes when she talked of Laura’s death.

Why did she stay? Because of this vow she had made to Laura, the wife who had known she faced death? It all seemed very melodramatic, and I did not believe a word of it. Jemima was a highly emotional woman. She had given all her devotion to the girl whom she had looked after; and when that girl had died she had to blame someone, so she blamed Lucian. I was almost a stranger to her, but she thought that Lucian might ask me to marry him; and she was warning me, or pretending to. When Laura had died, she must have been heart-broken and she had to blame someone for her death, so she blamed Lucian. And now she was jealous of my friendship with her charge. She did not want me here.

I suppose there was a certain amount of reason in that.

Murder, she had said. It was pure nonsense. But she had used the word and that was very upsetting.

I decided to take the first opportunity of talking to Lucian. It came next morning when he was showing me something in the garden.

I said: “Lucian. You never talk much about Bridget. She’s such a dear little girl. I have made her acquaintance and we get on quite well.”

“I don’t know much about children.”

“She seems to spend most of her time with that nurse.”

“Most children spend a lot of time with their nurses.”

“But it seems as though you and Lady Crompton are hardly aware of her existence.”