So Lavinia and I did our lessons together.

I was not displeased, for the schoolroom was the scene of my triumphs. Miss York was constantly shocked by Lavinia's ignorance, and though Lavinia often copied my work, and I helped her on many occasions, she was very much my inferior in the schoolroom.

I was at heart quite fond of Lavinia, though I could not understand why. Perhaps it was a feeling of familiarity, for we had known each other for so many years. She was arrogant, selfish and domineering; but I took that as a sort of challenge. I was rather flattered to find that she secretly relied on me. I think I knew her better than anyone else did; thus I became aware of a trait in her character which, without doubt, was the reason why certain things happened to her.

She was governed by a deep sensuality and she had matured early. She was a woman at fifteen, whereas I, in spite of my superior knowledge, was physically a child. She had a small waist and was always at great pains to accentuate her figure, which was showing signs of nubility. She had always been excessively proud of her gorgeous hair. She had perfect white teeth and was fond of displaying them; she would bestow her smiles right and left so that people might see and admire them, which gave a false impression of affability.

Because she had failed academically she had decided that learning was for those who lacked physical charms.

It dawned on me that Lavinia had a perpetual love affair with the opposite sex. She blossomed when men were near. She smiled and sparkled—showing her teeth and tossing her hair— and was an entirely different person.

I saw Fabian now and then. He had been away, first at school, then at the university. Sometimes he came home, almost always bringing a friend with him. I would see him riding out or perhaps in the house when I was having a lesson there.

When Lavinia talked of the young men who came to the House with her brother her eyes would sparkle and she would giggle a good deal. Fabian took no notice of me, and I supposed he had forgotten that time when he had looked after me and made such a fuss when they wanted to take me away. Although it was just a child's game, I had liked to think it had made a special bond between us.

A few days after my fifteenth birthday I met Dougal Carruthers. I was taking the shortcut across the churchyard to the rectory when I noticed the door of the church was open, and as I came nearer I heard the sound of footsteps on the flagstones. I thought perhaps my father was there and that he should be making his way home, as Mrs. Janson would be displeased if he were not at the table punctually for lunch. One had constantly to remind him of such matters.

I stepped into the church and saw a young man standing there gazing up at the roof.

He turned as I entered and smiled at me.

"Hello," he said. "I was just admiring the church. It's very attractive, isn't it?"

"I believe it is one of the oldest in the country."

"Norman obviously. And excellently preserved. It is wonderful how these old places stand up to time. Do you know the history of the place?"

"No. But my father does. He is the rector."

"Oh ... I see."

"He would be only too delighted to tell you anything you wanted to know."

"How kind!"

I was debating with myself. If I took him home to meet my father we would have to invite him for lunch, and Mrs. Janson did not welcome unexpected guests at mealtimes. On the other hand, if we did not ask him to lunch my father would keep him talking and miss his. In either case we would invoke Mrs. Jan-son's displeasure.

I said, "Why don't you come and see my father sometime? He will be free this afternoon. Are you staying near here?"

"Yes," he said, waving his arm, "here." I thought he was indicating the local inn, where I believed they occasionally put up paying guests.

I left him in the church and went home. Over lunch I told my father that I had met a man in the church, and he was interested in the architecture and history of the place.

My father brightened, sensing an encounter with someone who shared his enthusiasm.

"He's coming this afternoon. I said you'd see him."

I waited for the young man to arrive, for I feared that if I did not my father would have forgotten he was to see him and I felt I was needed to make the introduction.

In due course he arrived and my father received him delightedly. To my surprise, he told us that he was staying at Framling. I left my father with him and went over to ride.

Lavinia and I were good horsewomen, but we were not allowed to ride without a groom in attendance. Reuben Curry, who had succeeded Joe Cricks as head groom, usually accompanied us. He was a taciturn man, quite immune from Lavinia's wiles, and he kept a firm hand on us. He was an interesting man, very religious. His wife, I had heard from Polly or Mrs. Janson, had "gone astray" when a gypsy encampment rested nearby. Apparently there was one among the gypsies who was "a fascinating fellow. All white teeth and gold earrings and he could play the fiddle a treat. All the maids were in a twitter about him and as he was up to no good a certain amount of harm was done. Goodness knew what went on." Mrs. Janson wouldn't have put anything past him. And Reuben's wife ... well, she got carried away by the fellow and the truth was he took advantage of her; and when the gypsies went off at the end of the summer, they left a little something behind. The "little something" was Joshua Curry—a bundle of mischief from the day he was born. Another such as his father, it was reckoned, and one for the maids to beware of.

Having heard of Joshua's colourful beginnings, I was interested in him. He had black curly hair and sparkling dark eyes which were always smiling and alert—for what, I could only guess. He was so dark—brown-skinned, lithe and unlike anyone else I knew.

On this occasion, when Lavinia and I arrived at the stables Joshua was there alone. He grinned at us as we entered. I noticed the change in Lavinia at once, for, though he was only a servant, he was a member of the opposite sex. She dimpled and her eyes shone.

Joshua touched his forelock, but not in the way most of them did. He gave the impression that he was doing it as a kind of joke and it did not really mean respect.

"Are our horses saddled?" asked Lavinia haughtily.

Joshua bowed. "Oh yes, my lady. All waiting for you."

"And where is Reuben?"

"He's working. I'm here, though. I reckon I could be your escort today."

"It is usually Reuben or one of the older men," said Lavinia, but I could see that she was secretly pleased.

"Well, today it's yours truly ... that's if you young ladies will have me."

"I suppose we must," said Lavinia languidly.

We went to the horses. I mounted, using the mounting block. I looked back at Lavinia. Joshua was helping her into the saddle. It seemed to take quite a little time. I saw his face close to hers and noticed how his hand rested on her thigh. I thought she might be angry at the familiarity, but she was by no means so. The colour had heightened in her cheeks and her eyes were sparkling.

"Thank you, Joshua," she said.

"I answer to the name of Jos," he told her. "More friendly, don't you think?"

"I hadn't thought about it," said Lavinia, "but I suppose it is."

I saw his hand on her arm.

"Well then, Jos it is."

"All right," she said. "Jos."

We rode out of the stables and soon we were cantering along. Lavinia let me go ahead so that she was behind with Jos. I heard her laughing, and I thought how strange that was. She was usually so haughty with the servants.

She was more inattentive than ever at her lessons. She was continually studying her face in a looking glass, combing her hair, pulling out little tendrils and letting them spring back, smiling to herself as though she were hoarding some secret.

"I despair of teaching that girl anything," sighed Miss York. "For two pins I would go to Lady Harriet and tell her it's a hopeless task. Really she gets worse than ever." Lavinia did not care. A smugness had settled on her. She was content with life. Something had happened. I was sorry I was the one to discover what.

Dougal Carruthers had formed a firm friendship with my father and during his stay at Framling he came several times to see us and once to lunch.

He told us he was staying for three weeks at the House and that his father had been a great friend of Sir William Framling; they were connected with the East India Company and he would shortly be leaving the country. He confessed to my father that he would rather have studied medieval art and architecture. He shrugged his shoulders, adding that it was a tradition that sons of the family should go into the Company, just as Fabian Framling would eventually do.

Mrs. Janson was not displeased. She reckoned she could put on as good a lunch as Mrs. Bright of the House. All she wanted was notice, and this time she had it.

I liked Dougal. He was very charming to me and did not treat me as Fabian and his friends had—not unkindly or rudely, but simply as though I did not exist.

Dougal had a pleasant habit of glancing my way when he was talking, thus giving the impression that he included me in the conversation, and when, occasionally, I offered a comment, he would listen with attention.

I wished that I had paid more attention when my father talked of the antiquity of our Norman church, so that I could have contributed more.

Once Fabian came to the rectory with him. They sat in the garden and took wine with my father. Dougal and my father were soon deep in conversation and that left me to talk to Fabian.