I felt sick and faint, for I saw that her throat had been cut.

Lavinia was dead. That beauty which had been her pride, which had obsessed her and made her what she was, had in the end destroyed her.

Instinctively I knew that the Khansamah had taken his revenge in his own way, because she had encouraged him and then rejected him. She had committed the great crime in his eyes of insulting his dignity. He had been waiting to avenge his lost prestige; the gift of the peacock-feather fan had been a warning.

For some moments I could see nothing but the horror of this.

Lavinia ... Lavinia ... why did you not come? Why did you hesitate? You have destroyed yourself.

How can I tell the children? I asked myself, as if that were the most important thing in the world.

The children! I must get back to them. I should be looking after them. I would have to plan for them as I had planned for Fleur.

I must get out of this house of death immediately. If I were discovered my fate would be that of Lavinia. I was needed. I must look after the children.

I turned away from that scene of horror. I crept down the stairs. Luck was with me, for no one appeared. I was out through the open door, speeding across the grass.

The night air sobered me. I went inside the gazebo and allowed myself a few seconds to regain my breath. I must get to the children. To do so I had to pass through the streets. I could guess what was happening in every house where Europeans were living. The Mutiny had started in earnest. What we had feared for all these weeks had erupted, and it was far worse than anything I had imagined.

There were few people in the streets. I was glad of the shawl and the sari. Ayah had been wise to provide them. I stooped a little, for I was tall and my height might betray me.

That journey through the streets seemed to take a long time. I saw several bloodied bodies lying in the roads. They were all Europeans. I guessed what was happening and as I turned each corner I expected to come face to face with someone who would recognize me as belonging to the race they hated.

My good fortune was great that night. I realized how great later.

I reached the house.

Ayah embraced me when she saw me.

"I have been worried."

"Ayah," I stammered. "They've killed her. She's dead."

She nodded. "She should have come."

"Oh yes ... yes ... She wouldn't believe it. It was awful. Blood ... blood all over the room."

"Remember the children," she said.

"Where are they?"

"Asleep now. You have been long."

"Ayah ... what are we going to do?"

She said resignedly, "We wait. We see. You rest now. Safe for a while. My brother, he happy. He pay debt."

She took me into the workshop. Carved wooden objects were scattered about the place. There was a smell of wood in the air. I noticed a window that looked out onto a courtyard.

"All right," she said. "Out there courtyard. Salar's courtyard. No one see."

She took me into a small room which led from the workroom. There was no window in this room. The children lay on a pallet on the floor, fast asleep. There was another pallet beside them.

"You here," said the ayah, pointing to it. "You rest now. You feel very bad."

Feel bad? Indeed I did. I was desperately trying to shut out of my mind that scene, which I knew I would never be able to forget.

I lay on the pallet. I was seeing it all again. That once pleasant room transformed into a scene from some hellish horror ... something I could never have imagined. Blood ... blood ... everywhere, and Lavinia's body placed across the bed, her once-flaunted beauty degraded and gone forever.

I lay there thinking of the first time we had met, of going away to school ... Lavinia, who had been so much a part of my life almost always ...

And now ... no more.

What could I have done to save her? I should have impressed on her more urgently the need to go. I should have made her understand the danger. But who could make Lavinia do what she did not want to?

My face was wet. I was weeping. It helped a little. It soothed me somehow.

Oh, Lavinia ... Lavinia ... dead.

One of the children stirred in sleep as though to remind me that it was my duty to calm myself, not to give way to grief, to cherish them, to make them as my own.

I often wondered how the woodcarver Salar managed to keep us hidden in his house for all those weeks. It was an amazing feat.

The house was not big. He lived alone, for he was unmarried. He carved his wooden objects and took them along to the shops that bought them from him. He had always lived a lonely life, so this was a help.

I learned a little about him from Ayah, who told me that his niece Roshanara had meant a great deal to him. He loved the girl more than he had ever loved anyone else and he would never forget that we had saved her life. One day he would visit her; perhaps he would live close to her; and he owed that to us. He was happy now, for he was paying his debt ... more than paying it. Three lives for one. He was pleased about that. But he had not yet saved us. Only the first part of the operation had been carried out. The debt would not be wiped out until we could walk freely in the streets again.

On the very night of our escape Ayah went back to the house. She did not want suspicion to fall on her, for that could lead the Khansamah to Salar's house, and if he came that would be the end of us all. Salar would not be able to protect us then; and whatever happened, Salar must pay his debt.

This was a blessing, for she could keep me informed of what was happening there; also, she could walk the streets and get an idea of the general situation.

It was very difficult to keep the children amused and to answer their questions. The little courtyard which I had seen from the window was shut in by very high walls; but at least it was open to the sky, and this was the only fresh air that the children could have. We dared not let them be seen. Ayah brought some little trousers and tunics so that they were dressed like the natives, but their fair hair betrayed them. We toyed with the idea of dyeing it black, but we doubted whether we could do this satisfactorily. In any case, we would be afraid to let them venture out. We could not keep up the pretence that this was merely a game of hide and seek. Louise was too intelligent for that.

I said to her, "We have to hide here for a little while, because there are some bad men who are trying to find us."

Her eyes widened. "What bad men?" she asked.

"Just ... bad men."

"Great Khansamah?" she asked.

How much does she know? I wondered. I had often been startled by the mingling of innocence and shrewdness displayed by children.

I decided to tell her the truth. "Yes," I said.

She regarded me seriously. "He does not like us," she said. "I know."

"How did you know?" I asked.

She merely nodded. "I know," she said.

"So we have to stay here for a little while until ..."

"Until he has gone away?"

"Yes," I said.

"Where is my mama?" asked Alan.

Louise was regarding me intently and I knew I had to tell them. I made up my mind quickly. "Your mama has gone away."

"When is she coming back?" asked Louise.

"Well ... she has gone a long way."

"Home to England?" asked Louise.

"Well ... not exactly. She has gone farther than that."

"There isn't farther than that," said Louise gravely.

"Yes, there is. There's Heaven."

"Is that where she's gone?"

"Yes."

"How long will she stay?" asked Alan.

"Well, when people go to Heaven it is usually for a long time."

"Will she be with the angels?" asked Louise.

"I'm an angel," said Alan.

"You're not an angel," said Louise. "You haven't got any wings. You're only a little boy."

"I'm Drusilla's angel," he said. "Aren't I, Drusilla?"

I hugged him and said he was.

I was near to tears and Louise was watching me intently. She was a very serious little girl and I think she did not entirely accept my stories of what was happening.

"You won't go away, will you?" she said.

I shook my head and said that if I had my way I would never go.

Days passed. Each morning I awoke and wondered whether this would be my last day on Earth, and each night when I lay on ray pallet I wondered whether I would live through to the next day.

I tried to carry on with lessons. I invented games that we could play. We had guessing games and I was continually trying to devise new versions of old ones. Alan was often fretful. He wanted to go out into the garden. It was difficult to explain to him. Louise understood, I think, that we were in real danger; she was a sensible and clever little girl.

Ayah visited us often. It was quite natural that she should call on her brother. She brought news of what was happening.

The sepoys who had murdered their officers were now the Army, and they were in Delhi. Moreover, Bahadur Shah had been restored. Everyone must do homage to the King. The British had been driven out of Delhi. Any found on the streets would be instantly despatched. India was now for the Indians. The great Nana Sahib, who bore the same name as our Great Khansamah, was marching through Oudh to the North West Provinces preaching rebellion and the need to throw off the foreigners' yoke. Risings had taken place in Lahore and Peshawur. Soon the British would be driven out of India, said Salar.