I grabbed for the door-knob and swirled out of the room and shut the door behind me.

Then I stood still as still and leaned my head back against the closed parlour door, and stared blankly at nothing. I had never in all my life spoken thus to my mama and I felt I had hurt myself in complaining of her to her very face. And the angry tone which had come to my lips was one she had never heard before from me! And the claim that she gave me no freedom which was nonsense! And the rudeness before Uncle John! I sighed.

I did not stand there on purpose to eavesdrop, but I heard the silence in the room. And then I heard Richard say so kindly, so gently, ‘Please don’t be upset, Mama-Aunt, please don’t be offended, sir. Julia is never like this usually. Mama-Aunt will tell you that, and indeed it is true. There never was a sweeter-tempered girl than my cousin. I have never seen her like this before.’

I let out a silent sigh at Richard’s loyalty. He was defending me in the next breath after I had raged at him. Then I remembered that I should not be standing there, within earshot, and I moved away from the door.

I could have gone to my room, or gone to sit in the empty dining-room, but I needed to see the sky over Wideacre and needed the wind from the woods to blow away my temper and my confusion. I opened the front door and slipped out into the late afternoon.

Careless of my gown, I sat on the stone steps and welcomed the chill of the damp air. Evenings had been pearl-light this spring, but today had been as dark as winter all day and the afternoon was grey and shady from the fog of the morning and the lowering clouds. I gulped in the damp air and felt it wet as mist against my cheek. Across the drive the woods of Wideacre were hazy with green growth, and invisible birds in the wet paleness were singing and singing with boundless energy, not to be distracted by the cold or the darkness, knowing in their little leaping hearts that it was spring and time for loving and courting and mating.

I sighed. I felt the anger and the confusion drift away from me like blossoms tossed on the floodtide Fenny. It was all right. I had told a lie, a set of lies. But I had done it to protect an Acre man who looked to the Laceys for help. There had been enough arrests and threats in Acre in the past. Neither Richard nor I would add to it. Ralph Megson had returned with the promise of new hope for Acre, and if a little lie, or even a set of little lies, could keep that prospect safe, then I would tell those lies.

I could forgive myself for the lie about Dench, and the secret told to me by Mr Megson I would not consider at all. Like the young girl they expected me to be, I would trust Uncle John’s judgement and make no judgement of my own. He thought Mr Megson a fit manager for the estate, and he knew something of his past. He had praised Mr Megson’s character and he was prepared to ignore the turbulence in the man’s youth. I could not betray Mr Megson, and I would not judge him. I let that lie go too – I let it melt from my mind like frost in the mornings. I took a deep breath of Wideacre air and let it out in a sigh.


I must have appeared a rude ill-bred spoiled little miss; and that before the man my mama most loved and respected in the world. But it was a small enough thing for a Lacey to do for Acre. I would apologize to my mama, I would apologize to Uncle John and I might be able to tell the truth to Richard. I thought Richard might understand. And if he was not angry with me, then I could face anything.

And thus I sat, while the rooks cawed hoarsely and tumbled home to their straggly nests, swaying at the very tops of the trees. Thus I sat and let the peace of Wideacre wash over me, until I was a Lacey on Wideacre again, knowing my home.

The door behind me opened with a click and Richard came out. He nearly stumbled over me, not seeing me in the gloom.

Oh, there you are,’ he said abruptly. ‘You’ll have to face them and apologize sooner or later, you know.’

‘I know,’ I said comfortably. I smiled up at him. ‘Wasn’t I a shrew?’ I said ruefully. ‘But I didn’t know what to do.’

‘I knew you were trying to tell some plumper, but I couldn’t think what you were saying,’ Richard said. He dropped down to sit on the step beside me and his shoulder brushed mine. I leaned slightly towards it and felt warmed with the comfort of his presence.

‘Who on earth is the mysterious Dan Tayler?’ he said. ‘You were trying to lead Mama all around the house on that taradiddle, Julia. But anyone who knows you could have seen you were fibbing. What were you trying to hide?’

‘Oh Richard,’ I said. ‘I know, it’s no good trying to lie to you. And I wouldn’t want to lie to Mama either, or Uncle John. But I was afraid to tell them!’

Richard took my hand in his warm clasp. ‘Afraid to tell them what?’ he asked mystified. ‘What great secret have you, little Julia?’

‘It was Dench!’ I said in a rush. ‘John Dench, the Havering groom. He had obviously been hiding in Acre or near by all this time, perhaps Midhurst. And when they had the party, of course he came to it. We nearly bumped into him in the village street! It was quite awful. I didn’t know what Uncle John would do, but I could not have borne it if he had ordered Dench’s arrest.’

Richard put his arm around my shoulder and I laid my head into the warm crook of his neck and sniffed at his warmth like a little sensual animal.

‘But Grandpapa Havering put out a reward for Dench’s arrest,’ Richard said softly. ‘You are a little criminal yourself, Julia, to help hide him.’

I nodded. Richard’s gentle hand came up from my shoulder and caressed my cheek. I nearly purred like a stroked kitten.

‘I know,’ I said, ‘I cannot explain it, Richard. I just thought how kind he had been to you when he was teaching you to ride, and how anxious he was for you on that awful day when you had your accident. And I know Clary Dench now, and he is her uncle and she loves him so much, you know, Richard. I just couldn’t have named him to Uncle John and watched them take him away.’

‘So you lied,’ Richard said. His voice was still gentle.

‘Yes,’ I said, and I was no longer melting with his touch. I could hear an edge of anxiety in my voice. ‘It was all such a long time ago,’ I said, but I was less confident. ‘It was years ago. I could not have borne for the new start for Acre and Mr Megson’s first day here to be spoiled by an old, old score.’

‘You deliberately told my papa a false name. And then you lied to Mama-Aunt and to me?’ Richard’s voice was as smooth as silk.

‘Yes,’ I said again. ‘But I knew you would understand, Richard. I was sure you would understand. I was not lying to you, for see, I have told you as soon as I could. This is the first moment we have been together and I have told you at once. I was not lying to you, Richard.’

‘No,’ he said judicially. ‘You have told me the truth as soon as you could. But you have not told me something that I find very strange.’

‘What is that Richard?’ I asked. My voice was as thin as a child’s. ‘I will tell you anything, Richard. You know I never keep secrets from you.’


Richard’s hand on my shoulder was no longer a caress. He was holding me to his side so there was no chance that I could get away. His voice was as soft and as gentle as ever. But I felt like a foolish rabbit hopping towards a snare.

‘Had you forgotten, Julia, why Grandpapa Havering wanted Dench arrested? Had you forgotten what he had done to my horse?’

Oh, no, Richard!’ I cried. ‘How could I forget? I cried every night for a week for poor Scheherazade, and for you and your disappointment. You know how upset I was. Of course I had not forgotten!’ I broke off and paused, for it was the wrong answer and I knew it as soon as it had left my lips. ‘At least,’ I said, correcting myself, ‘I have not forgotten; but I did not remember it quite at the time. All I could really think of was poor Clary who loves her uncle so, and poor Dench who must have been living so poorly and so badly in hiding somewhere. And the village was so happy and alive that I could not bear to be the one who spoiled all that. And everyone was listening, Richard, and looking. You know how they do in Acre. I could not bear to be a Lacey breaking hearts in Acre again, Richard! I really could not have named him to Uncle John!’

Richard’s grip on my shoulder was so hard that it hurt. His fingers were digging into the soft flesh of my upper arm like four blunt knives. But he said nothing.

‘Richard,’ I said. ‘You are hurting me, you are holding me too tight.’

‘Yes,’ he said, and there was a smile in his voice, but it was not a nice smile. It was too dark for me to see his eyes, but I knew they were black with rage. I had been wrong to lie and then I had been wrong to try to explain, the lie to Richard. I had the old familiar sensation of the ground slipping away from under my feet, and I knew that there was no way of saving myself from Richard’s torrent of anger.

‘You deserve that I should hurt you,’ he said. ‘You have hidden the man who injured my horse, injured my horse so badly that she had to be killed. You saw him in Acre, and you lied to my papa so that he should be safe. I know why you did that, Miss Lacey of Wideacre. You did it so that you could queen it around Acre as the favourite of the village. You said yourself that everyone was looking at you and listening. You wanted them to think you were so nice, so sweet, such a little princess that you thought nothing of me and of the fact that John Dench killed my horse out of spite and hatred towards me!’

‘No, Richard!’ I said aghast. ‘No! That is not right! That is not how it was!’