I said, "You wanted a child."

"His child."

"This is your child."

"I would hate it. It would always be a reproach."

"You were innocent. They gave you too much to drink. You weren't used to it and that happened. I am sure that if your husband really loved you he would understand."

"He would not. He could not. We were everything to each other."

"And what of the baby?"

"I shall get someone to adopt it."

"Poor little baby!" I said. "It will never know its mother."

"You are too young to understand what was between Jack and me. No child could ever mean more to me than he does ... not even his. I have thought and thought. I have to do it this way."

"But it is making you very unhappy."

"I don't expect ever to be happy again."

"You should try, I am sure. It was one little moment when you were off guard. It wasn't as though you took a lover."

"It would seem like that."

"Not if you told him."

"He would never understand."

"Why don't you try? That poor little baby ... to be born unwanted. That is the most terrible tragedy of all."

"I know. My sin is heavy on me. I have thought of taking my life."

"Please don't talk like that."

"If I did it would break Jack's heart and if he knew of this it could never be the same between us. He would never believe me entirely. He is passionate and jealous. He so much wanted a child ... and to think that another man gave me what he couldn't ... I know Jack. You don't. You're too young to understand these things."

And so she talked to me and again and again she went over her problems. I tried to advise her but, as she said, I was too young to understand.

I thought a great deal about those children who would be born in Aunt Emily's clinic—the unwanted ones—and I thought of my own parents, who had planned my education while they were waiting for me. I thought of Lady Harriet, who had long upbraided the Almighty for denying her offspring, and who had rejoiced so wholeheartedly when her prayers had been answered that she spoiled her children to such an extent that Lavinia had come to this pass.

There were other patients besides the women who were expecting babies. There was the poor old man whom I had seen from my bedroom window sitting on the seat, on the first day I had come. I learned that he had been a great scientist in his day, but he had had a seizure which had robbed him of his mind; and he was at this place because he was unwanted by his family and had been put here to await death because it was the most convenient way of disposing of him. There was one woman who lived in a world of her own. Her manner was haughty and she believed she was reigning over a large household of servants. She was known as the Duchess. There was George Thomson, who was always laying fires in cupboards. He caused a great deal of anxiety and had to be watched. He had never attempted to light the fires, but there was always the fear that he might.

They were like people from a shadow world.

I often wondered about Janine, who had been brought up in this place by an aunt whose relationship to her she denied. The house was bright. There were blue curtains and white furniture everywhere, and yet somehow it seemed a dark and mysterious place, and I never felt at ease in it. I would wake in the night sometimes and start up in fear. I would gaze to that other bed where Lavinia lay, her beautiful hair spread out on the pillow. Her sleep was often troubled. I wondered how often she thought of her lover, swaggering up to us outside that patisserie with his tales of grandeur, his sole motive being the seduction of gullible girls. And those weeks of pleasure had led to this. What a lesson! I wondered if Lavinia would ever learn it.

She had been seen by Dr. Ramsay—a small man with dark, rather frizzy hair, some of which grew out of his nose and ears. He had examined her, declared her to be in good health and had said that all was going reasonably well and that we could expect the baby during the second week of August. This was good news. We had thought it would be two weeks later.

I told myself: Soon we shall be out of this strange place. Here I felt shut away from the real world. It would be good to be back in the natural world, for the idea struck me that anything could happen here. Yet Aunt Emily seemed determined to create a homely atmosphere. She was always bright and breezy and wanting to know if we were "comfy." If only she had not those sharp blue-green eyes, which seemed to betray something to me that I would rather not know.

The days seemed normal enough; it was during the night when I heard strange noises. The little girl would suddenly cry out in terror, and the scientist would wander about tapping his stick, murmuring to himself that there was something wrong in the laboratory. The Duchess sometimes walked in her sleep, and we would hear her giving orders to the bust of George IV in the hall, thinking it was her butler.

It was a house of contrasts; the robust Agatha with her accent of the streets of London, gentle Emmeline awaiting the visits of her lover. Yes, it was a mysterious world and, while I found it of absorbing interest in a morbid sort of way, I longed to escape from it.

I knew that tremendous problems awaited us—or at least Lavinia—when we were out of here. I guessed that all the people here were paying Aunt Emily a considerable sum of money for her services; and even though Lavinia was to be allowed to pay over a period of time, it would not be easy for her.

There was something strange about most of the people here. It was the sort of nursing home where people who had something to hide went ... except those like the Duchess and the old man, whose people sent them here to get them out of the way. It was very pathetic and I could not get out of my mind the thought that it was also sinister.

I did not greatly like the doctor. There was something secretive about him. He looked to me like a man who had something to hide.

Janine was different here. She had to help her aunt and was often sent to look after the patients. There was one young man who was made her special charge. He was the Honourable Clarence Coldry and was quite clearly mentally deficient. He had a beaming smile and was delighted if anyone spoke to him. He himself had difficulty in speaking; his tongue seemed too large for his mouth. There was something doglike about him.

I had an idea that Janine was not very happy. She did not seem like the same girl who had been to school with us. I sensed a scheming nature behind Aunt Emily's smiles and she was very watchful of Janine.

I was longing to get away. It seemed as though we had been here for months. We took little walks, Janine and I. Lavinia had become quite cumbersome in the last weeks and she could not accompany us.

"Soon you'll be gone," Janine said to me once. "It can't be long now. Lavinia is almost ready to deliver the goods."

I winced. I was more fond of that yet-to-be-born baby than any of them. I did not like to hear it referred to as "the goods." "And I shall still be here," she said with a little grimace.

"Well, it is your home," I reminded her.

She nodded grimly. "Aunt Emily has plans for me."

"Not the Honourable Clarence!"

"Afraid so."

"Oh, Janine ... you couldn't!"

"Perhaps. After all, he is an Hon."

"He wouldn't want to marry."

"I have to make him rely on me."

"Janine, why do you stay here?"

"It's where I was born. I have lived here all my life ... except when I was at school."

"Your aunt must have been fond of you to send you to Lamason."

"She is not my aunt. It's my real family who pay."

"They would not want you to marry Clarence."

"It's Aunt Emily who has the say."

"She seems very powerful. I hope she will give Lavinia time to pay."

"She will. Although if there was any delay in the payments she might decide to approach Mama."

"She mustn't do that. I don't think Lavinia realized it was going to be so costly."

"Mistakes always are ... in one way or another. After all, she was in a real mess. We got her out of it ... you and I. What would she have done if we hadn't brought her here? There will be the baby's keep too. Mind you, she's been lucky. Can't expect any more than she's got."

"At least we have come so far," I said.

And I thought again: It can't be long now.

It was soon after that when Lavinia awoke one night to find her pains had started.

The doctor and Aunt Emily came to her room. I had hastily put on some clothes and was sent to arouse one of the maids, who knew something about childbirth and had assisted before.

It was not a difficult birth. Lavinia was young and healthy and the next day her little girl was born. A cradle had been set up in our room.

"We are rather full at the moment," explained Aunt Emily apologetically to me. I did not mind sharing the room, which had become a nursery. I was fascinated by the baby.

Lavinia was greatly relieved to have come through her ordeal. During the first day she sat up in bed, smiling and marvelling with the rest of us at the baby.

She had many visitors—Emmeline, Agatha and the Duchess; the latter mistook Lavinia for her daughter and kept calling the baby Paul. Miriam did not come.

There was to be a short respite for Lavinia before we moved on. I was conscious of an immense relief. Lavinia had come through safely. I had heard tell of many things which could go wrong in childbirth and I had had some anxious moments wondering what action we could take if anything of that nature happened to Lavinia. But there was no longer need to worry on that score. She was perfectly well and the baby appeared to be flourishing. Moreover the end of our stay in the house was certainly at hand.