I heard myself say faintly, "I suppose you are right. '

"I think so."

"Polly and her sister will never let Fleur go."

"I fancy there will be some sort of battle, but I am not sure which side will be victorious. My mother is a very determined lady."

"So are Eff and Polly."

"It will be a battle of the Titans."

He laughed and I found myself laughing with him.

I felt suddenly secure, unafraid.

I shall never forget that night ... that line of vehicles, the grazing horses ... the warm balmy air, the hum of insects ... and Fabian there beside me.

I wanted it to go on. It was absurd, but I was in no hurry to reach Bombay.

There were other pauses. We talked and sometimes were silent, but there was a great bond between us. More than ever I was sure that my life was bound up with the Framlings. Sometimes we talked of the past, and again of those days when he had captured me and made me his child, when he had pretended he was my father.

"You thought you could take what you wanted," I told him, "including other people's children."

"I suppose I did."

"Perhaps you still do."

"Old habits persist."

I thought of the peacock-feather fan, but I did not speak of it. To brood on it brought back the memory that I knew I would never entirely forget—Lavinia on the bloodied bed, with the fan at her feet.

I must put all that behind me. I must live for the future. I had a great task to do. I had to get the children home, to give my life to them ... until Fabian returned.

At last we were in Bombay. There were the familiar buildings, their walls brilliant white in the dazzling sun, the sea— the gateway to India, as they called it. Now we were to pass through those gates ... on our way home.

We had to wait a few days for the ship; at last it came. We were taken on board and Fabian came on to see us settled. There was a small cabin that I was to share with the children.

There was no time to be wasted. Soon after we were on board we were ready to sail.

Fabian took his farewells of the children, admonishing them to obey me in all things. They listened solemnly.

Then he took my hands.

"Goodbye, Drusilla," he said. "I'll come home as soon as it is possible." He smiled at me. "We'll have lots to talk about and plenty of time to do it in then," he said.

"Yes," I said.

He kissed me twice, once on either cheek.

"Take great care," he said.

"You, too," I told him.

And that was all. I sailed out of Bombay with the children, leaving Fabian behind in that strife-torn land.

England

Homecoming

I remember little of the journey. I suppose it was eventful, as all such journeys are, but everything that happened seemed trivial after what had gone before.

There were the children to look after. There seemed to be children everywhere and they needed constant attention. A sailing ship is not the easiest of nurseries.

There was a certain tension among the older passengers. Many of them had left husbands and other relatives behind in India and were constantly wondering what had happened to them. We had no news; we were a little band of refugees from a strange land.

The children, of course, were excited by everything they saw, and the crew were happy to have them around. I saw Louise on deck, with others of her age, while seamen pointed out to them the dolphins and flying fish. I remember the great excitement when a whale was seen.

We had the inevitable storms, which kept us to our cabins, and the children shrieked with laughter when they could not stand up straight and small objects rolled about the cabin. Everything was new and exciting to them, and at the end of it they were going to that wonderful place called Home.

What they were expecting I could not imagine. I hoped they would not be disappointed.

So we reached Suez.

I was not looking forward to the ride across the desert, but it was of immense excitement to the children. They did not appear to notice the discomfort of the wagons and the wildness of the horses that carried them along. They were thrilled when we stopped at the caravanserais. I could hear Louise telling Alan all about it while he jumped up and down, as he always did to express excitement.

How it all came back to me! The journey with Alice, our acquaintance with Monsieur Lasseur, and then the arrival of Tom Keeping and the mysterious disappearance of the socalled Frenchman.

I shivered to contemplate where I might be now, but for the intervention of Tom on Fabian's orders.

All my thoughts led back to Fabian.

At last we arrived at Southampton.

"Is this home?" asked Louise.

"Yes," I said with emotion. "This is home."

How strange England seemed after that land of brilliant sunshine, often overpowering heat, lotus flowers, banyan trees and dark, silent-footed people with their soft, melodious voices.

It was April when we arrived—a lovely time of year to return to England, with the trees in bud and the spring flowers just beginning to show themselves, the gentle rain, the sun warm without being hot, no longer fierce, merely benign and a little coy, since it so often hid behind the clouds. I watched the children's eyes grow wide with excitement. I think they had long ago made up their minds that home was a kind of Mecca, the promised land, and in it everything would be wonderful.

We were taken to an inn, where we could make our arrangements to return to those who were waiting for us.

I had a message sent off at once to Framling to tell Lady Harriet that I had arrived with the children.

There we heard the news. Sir Colin Campbell had relieved Lucknow. There had been great rejoicing at home at this news. It was believed that the Mutiny was grinding to a halt.

Everyone in the inn wanted to make much of us. We had been through the terrible Mutiny and we had survived. They could not do enough for us.

I was thinking of those I had left behind. How was Fabian?

Had the relief of Lucknow come in time for Alice, Tom and Dougal? I could not bear to think that the love Alice had planned to share with Tom might have been snatched from her.

Lady Harriet was never one for delays. As soon as she received my note, a carriage was sent to take us to Framling. And there we were, riding through English country lanes, past fields like neat green squares, past woodland, streams and rivers. The children were entranced. Louise sat silent, while Alan could not curb his desire to jump up and down.

And there was the familiar village, the green, the rectory, the House, the scene of my childhood. How was Colin Brady? I wondered. Still the humble servant of Lady Harriet, I was sure.

I watched the children as we approached Framling. It looked splendid in the pale sunshine ... arrogant, formidable and heartbreakingly beautiful.

"Is this home?" asked Louise.

"Yes," I said. "You will soon see your grandmother."

I had to restrain Alan, who was almost jumping out of the carriage.

Up the drive we went ... so many memories crowding in. Lavinia ... oh no. I could not bear to think of the last time I had seen her. Fabian ... I dared not think of him either. Perhaps I had had wild dreams. Now, face to face with that magnificent pile of bricks and soon to see Lady Harriet, I knew how absurd my dreams had been.

He would come back and everything would be as it always had been, except that I was the plain girl from the rectory who would have a good post as governess to Lady Harriet's grandchildren: a good, sensible girl who would remember her place. That was what Lady Harriet would want and expect; and Lady Harriet always had what she wanted.

The carriage had pulled up. One of the servants appeared. Jane? Dolly? Bet? I couldn't remember; but I knew her and she knew me.

"Oh, Miss Delany, Lady Harriet said you're to go to her with the children as soon as you come."

The children could hardly wait to get out of the carriage.

Into the hall ... the familiar hall with its high, vaulted roof and the weapons on the walls, weapons used by long-dead Framlings to protect the House against any who came against it. Up the staircase to the drawing room, where Lady Harriet would be sitting waiting.

"They're here, Lady Harriet."

She rose. She looked, as ever, stately and formidable. There was a faint colour in her cheeks and her eyes immediately alighted on the children.

I felt their grip on my hands tighten.

"This is your grandmother, children," I said.

They stared at her and she at them. I believed she was deeply touched by the sight of them and she would be thinking of Lavinia, of course. I was glad she did not know the nature of her dying. Fabian would never tell her; nor would I. So many people had died in the Mutiny. It was accepted that it might have been the fate of any one of us.

She looked at me. "Good day, Drusilla," she said. "Welcome home. Come along in. And this is Louise."

Louise nodded.

"I'm Alan," said the boy. "This is home, isn't it?"

Did I see the blink of the eyes, as though she feared she might betray her tears? I believed that was so. I heard the faint catch in her voice when she said, "Yes, my dear child, you have come home." Then she was immediately the familiar Lady Harriet. "How are you, Drusilla? You look well. Sir Fabian has written to me about you. I know you have been very sensible. You were always a sensible girl. Your room is next to the children's. Temporarily perhaps ... but just at first ... they would no doubt like that best. Sometime you must tell me of your adventures. Now, Louise, come here, my dear."