“Yes, go on,” said Dorothy.

“We decided that there would be no harm in my writing to her and telling her how much I should like to see her. If she preferred not to do so, well then, she could just ignore my letter.”

“How will you get a letter to her?”

That bothered me. Then I thought of you. “

She stared at me, her eyes round with excitement.

There was a man who campaigned for her,” I went on.

“Jefferson Craig, the criminologist, yes. I haven’t heard anything about him for some time. He seems to have faded quite out of the public eye.”

“You wrote to him once.”

“Yes. I admired his book and one day had the temerity to write and tell him so.”

“And he wrote back.”

She nodded.

“Was there an address on his letter?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. I was so thrilled to get an answer that I didn’t give a thought to the address.”

“I suppose you couldn’t remember it then?” I said in disappointment.

She shook her head and laughed at me.

“You don’t suppose I’d destroy a letter from Jefferson Craig, do you?

Of course it’s in my box of treasures. Let me get it and put us out of our suspense. But don’t get too excited. It’s some years ago. He was very prominent at the time of the case, and that made him more so. But after that he seemed to fade out. If there is an address, he might not be there now. “

“Dorothy, please get the letter.”

She went off and in a few minutes reappeared, waving it in her hand.

She gave it to me.

Dear Miss Emmerson [I read], Thank you for your letter. I am so pleased that you enjoyed my book and it was good of you to write and tell me so.

Yours sincerely, Jefferson Craig.

And there was an address. Campion & James, 105 Transcombe Court, London E.C.4.

“That would be his publishers,” said Dorothy.

“Don’t look downcast.

They will probably be in touch with him and will forward it on wherever he is. So write to Jefferson Craig and enclose a letter to Miss Carson. Then put it in an envelope with the one addressed to this Campion & James and ask them to forward it to him. It’s simple. “

“Oh, Dorothy, what a help you have been.”

“Don’t get too excited! This could come to nothing. On the other hand, it might work. And don’t thank me. I’m as excited as you are. I always wanted to know what became of Kitty Carson.”

I immediately wrote to Campion & James. Between us, Dorothy and I had decided what should be said. Dear Sirs [I had written], I am anxious to get into touch with Mr. Jefferson Craig, and I wondered if you would kindly forward the enclosed to him. If this is not possible, will you be good enough to return it to me. With many thanks in anticipation of your kindness in this matter, I am, Yours sincerely, Carmel Sinclair.

Inside this letter was the one addressed to Jefferson Craig, explaining that I wished to get in touch with Miss Carson, and in that the letter to her.

To Kitty Carson herself, I had written:

Dear Miss Carson, You will remember Carmel. I have never forgotten you and all your kindness to us all. Perhaps you will also remember Captain Sinclair.

He was my father and he took me to Australia where I remained until now. I have returned to England only recently and only just heard what happened after I left.

I remember you with such fondness that I wondered if it would be possible to see you. I should be so pleased if it were, but if you do not wish it, I shall understand.

I so much look forward to hearing from you. Your one-time pupil, , Carmel Sinclair. (I am no longer March. I took my father’s name. )

Dorothy read the letters several times and, when we thought we could not improve on them, we sent them off.

Then the waiting began.

Almost a week had passed and there was no response. It must be expected, I told myself. Suppose I were in Kitty’s place? Suppose I had suffered the agony she must have endured? Suppose I had succeeded in establishing myself in a new life? Should I want to revive the past with its anguish and misery?

Had Campion & James forwarded the letter? That seemed likely, otherwise they would have sent it back to me. Had Jefferson Craig passed it on?

I had a letter from Lucian. He was coming to London for a day or so.

Could we meet for lunch the following Tuesday? What about Logan’s? We had been there before, I would remember.

I had not seen him since my visit to Castle Folly. I was sure he would be very interested to hear what had happened and I wanted to learn what he thought of my trying to get in touch with Miss Carson. I knew that Lawrence would not approve. He would think immediately of how distressing it might be for a woman in her position to be reminded of the past. I tried to make myself believe that he would be wrong and that Miss Carson would be pleased that I remembered her with fondness.

As I entered the restaurant, Lucian rose from the table at which he was seated and greeted me. He looked happy, without what I had come to think of as that haunted look. In fact, he looked very like the boy I had known at those tea-parties who had tacitly insisted that I should be treated as the others were.

“It’s been a long time since we met,” he said.

“You always say that, Lucian.”

“That’s because it always seems so.”

He smiled at me, and, as we sat down, said: “So you have been visiting again.”

“It was a particularly interesting visit.” I told him about my mother, Harriman Blakemore and Castle Folly.

“What an interesting background you have sprung from!” he said.

“You would like my mother. She is so amusing and so different from everyone else. And Harriman is unique, too.”

“I hope I shall meet them.”

“Oh, you must. They want to meet you. It was wonderful finding her.” I explained what had happened.

“It was during that time I was staying with your mother, I found Rosie Perrin in the woods, and she put me in touch with Rosaleen … Zingara that was.”

“Tell me more.”

So I did.

“The wonderful thing is that I have a home there now. I have felt guilty about staying so long at the Hysons’. Not that they have hinted in the slightest way that they don’t want me there. In fact, there are protests if I speak of leaving. But my mother’s home will be mine. And I suppose Harriman is my stepfather. It’s a wonderful feeling of security.”

“Carmel, I have been wanting to talk to you seriously for some time.”

“Yes?”

“When you came back, it was so interesting for me. I felt as though we were young again. I wish we had not lost all those years.

We ought to have grown up together. “

I laughed.

“When we knew each other all those years ago, I was just a little girl. You were far above me. You only condescended to know me because I was a poor little outsider and you had a kind heart. It was like that, you know. I wasn’t even as old as Estella or Camilla.”

“That’s true, I suppose. But I did miss you when you went away.”

“As you did Estella and Henry.”

“Differently. That is the point. Everything is different. There is something missing at the Grange. It’s my fault, of course. It ought to be as it used to be when I was young. I suppose it is because I made the most ghastly mistake that anyone can make. I’ve changed everything. I’ve brought a gloom into the place. I want to break out of that, and I want you to help me.”

I looked at him steadily and said: “You had better say exactly what you mean.”

“I want to marry you.”

I felt a lifting of my spirits. I had not felt like this since that terrible night when they had put me in the lifeboat, leaving Toby behind. I knew that part of me wanted this and that I felt for Lucian what I would never feel for James or Lawrence. I liked them both very much, of course. I enjoyed their society, but my feelings for Lucian were different. There was an excitement for me in his company. With James or Lawrence I knew exactly what to expect, but there was something in Lucian which mystified me. I felt there was something secret he was keeping from me.

It was because of this that I hesitated and he was immediately aware of my hesitation.

“You don’t like the idea?” he said.

“No, no, no. It is not that I am not very fond of you, Lucian.”

“That sounds like the classic refusal.

“I am very fond of you, but…” Carmel, tell me quickly. There is a “but” , isn’t there? “

“I will say what I intended. I am very fond of you, but…”

“Ah,” he said.

“There it comes.”

“It is just that I am unsure. So much has happened. I do care for you very much. You were the hero of my childhood. You must understand. I hope we shall continue to see each other as we have been doing. They have been very happy times for me, but we have to know more of each other. You see, it was for me a very particular childhood friendship, but we have both changed since then. So much has happened to us … both. Important things. They have had their effect on us.

That is what I mean. I do care for you, but there are times when I feel I do not know you as I should someone with whom I propose to spend my whole life. “

“You are thinking of my marriage.”

“I think that might have something to do with it.”

“I will tell you exactly what happened. I can understand your feelings, of course. It is the whole set-up in the house, isn’t it?

The wife who died so soon after the marriage, the child, that old ghoul of a nurse. I will tell you everything. I intended to. In fact, I have come near doing so on several occasions, but I am afraid that, like most people, if something is unpleasant, I try to forget it and deceive myself into thinking that it is all past and forgotten. It happened quickly. There was a sort of gathering . those of us who had been at university together. It was a grand weekend party. There were several girls with us. Laura was one of them.