That was an end of the matter ... for her. But not for me. I could not stay. I certainly would not remain when Fabian was married to Lady Geraldine. I knew I had had ridiculous dreams. I suppose those days in India, which now seemed part of an unreal nightmare, had had their effect on me. Back in Framling I realized how impossible those dreams had been.

The Framlings were Framlings. They would never change. They looked upon the rest of us as pawns in a game, to be moved around as benefitted them. We were of no importance except in our usefulness.

During that week, while Lady Harriet went around in a state of happiness which I had never seen her in before, I was getting more and more depressed. I did not want to be here when he came home. I could not join the general rejoicing because of the suitable marriage he was making. Fabian would marry suitably, I was sure. He was as much aware of family obligations as his mother was. He had been brought up to regard them as all-important. I had not been mistaken when I had thought there was an attraction between us. There always had been ... with him as well as with me. I knew that he wanted to make love to me; but the question of marriage would never arise. I had heard whispers of past Framlings ... the vivid lives they had led, the romantic adventures which had nothing to do with marriage. They married suitably and that was all that was expected of them.

But that was not the life for me. I was too seriousminded, as Lady Harriet would have said, "too sensible."

I saw Dougal often. He did not ask me to marry him, but I knew it was in his mind. He was afraid to ask me outright, for fear I should refuse. I realized that Dougal was not the man to take quick decisions. He would always waver; others would have to make up his mind for him.

If I gave him that little bit of encouragement for which he looked, he would have asked me. Why did he want me? I asked myself. It was because I represented a certain security to him, as I did to his children. I would be the surrogate mother, for which post I had already qualified.

It would be convenient, wise no doubt. I could look to a peaceful life ahead with Dougal, quiet, pleasant, with a husband who would be considerate and caring ... and the children growing up with us. We would study together. I would learn a great deal. Our excitement would be in the antiquities of the world ... books, art ... they would give us our interest.

Perhaps I should grow like him.

He was seeing me as the antithesis of Lavinia, but he would never forget that outstanding beauty, which I believed he had marvelled at when he saw her.

Everyone would say I should be glad of the opportunity. "What is your life?" they would say. "Are you going to spend it serving the Framlings?" And what about Lady Geraldine?

Would she sense her husband's feelings towards me? It could develop into an explosive, impossible situation.

I should have to go. Where? I had a little money, just about enough to keep me in a rather dreary, comfortless style. What a fool I was to turn away from all that Dougal was offering me.

And Fabian would be home in a day or so.

I could not bear to be there when he came.

I said to Lady Harriet, "I would like to go to see Polly again."

"Well," replied Lady Harriet, "that is not a bad idea. You can tell them that Sir Fabian will soon be home and he will put a stop to their nonsense. They might as well give up Fleur with a good grace. Tell them we shall not be forgetful and shall reward them for what they have done."

I did not remark that that was the very way to stiffen their resolve, if it needed stiffening—which it did not. But how could one explain such things to Lady Harriet?

I was happy to be with Polly again. I was taken back to my childhood, when she was there to soothe away my little problems.

It was not long before she sensed there was something on my mind. She managed in that skilful way of hers that we would be alone together.

"Let's sit in the parlour," she said. "Eff won't know. Besides, you're a visitor and parlours are for visitors."

So we sat there on the stiff, unused chairs with their prim antimacassars on the backs and the aspidistra on the wicker table in the window and the clock, which her father had thought such a lot of, ticking away on the mantelshelf.

"Now, what's on your mind?"

"Oh, I'm all right, Polly."

"Don't give me that. I know when something's wrong with you and that's now."

"Sir Fabian is coming home," I said.

"Well, it's about time, I should think."

I was silent.

"Here," she said. "Tell me. You know you can tell your old Polly anything."

"I feel rather foolish. I've been so stupid."

"Ain't we all?"

"You see, Polly, if you can imagine what it was like in India ... From one minute to the next we never knew whether it was going to be our last. That does something to you."

"You tell me what it does to you."

"Well ... he was there and all those other people were, too, but it was like being with him alone. He'd saved my life, Polly. I had seen him shoot a man who was going to kill me."

She nodded slowly.

"I know," she said. "He seemed like some sort of hero to you, didn't he? You had this fancy for him. You'd always had it, really. You can't fool me."

"Perhaps," I said. "It was silly of me."

"I never thought he'd be any good to you. There was that other one." She looked at me. "And he goes and marries that Lavinia. I reckon you're better off without the both. Men ... they're chancy things ... Better none at all than the wrong one ... and, my, my goodness, the good ones don't grow on trees, I can tell you."

"There was your Tom."

"Ah ... my Tom. Not many like him in this world, I can tell you, and he goes and gets himself drowned. I said to him, 'You ought to get a job ashore, that's what.' But would he listen? Oh no. No sense, men, that's about it."

"Polly," I said. "I had to get away. You see, he's coming home and he is going to be married."

"What?"

"Lady Harriet is making preparations. She is Lady Geraldine Fitzbrock."

"What a name to go to bed with!"

"She will be Lady Geraldine Framling. I couldn't stay there. She wouldn't want me."

"Not when she sees he's got a fancy for you."

"It was only a passing fancy, Polly. He'd forget all about me if I was not there."

"You'd better get out of that place, I can see. There's always a home for you here."

"That's another thing, Polly. Lady Harriet says he will do something about Fleur."

"What about her?"

"She says they will stand by their rights. She's the grandmother, you see."

"Grandmother, me foot! Fleur's ours. We brought her up. We had her since she was a few weeks old. Nobody's going to take her away from us now. I tell you straight."

"If she took it to court ... all their money and the fact that Fleur is their flesh and blood ..."

"I won't have it. Eff won't either. They wouldn't want all that dragged through the courts ... all about Madam Lavinia's affairs in France. Course they wouldn't."

"Nor would you, Polly. You wouldn't want Fleur to be faced with all that."

Polly was silent for once.

"Oh ... it won't get to that," she said at length.

"They are very determined and accustomed to having their own way."

"Here's someone who's not letting them. But we're talking about you. You know you want to get that Fabian out of your mind. That other one ... well, it mightn't be such a bad idea."

"You mean Dougal?"

"Yes, him. He's a bit of a ninny, but there are the children, and you know how fond you are of them."

"We were great friends really. I liked him very much. But then Lavinia appeared. She was so beautiful, Polly. I think it ruined her life in a way. She couldn't resist admiration. She had to have it from everyone and in the end ... she died."

I found myself telling the story. It all came back to me so vividly. Roshanara ... the Khansamah ... his meetings with Lavinia in her boudoir ... to that last terrible scene.

"She was lying on the bed, Polly. I knew what had happened. She had insulted his dignity and she paid for it in a special way. He gave her a peacock-feather fan. She thought it was because he was contrite and so enamoured of her beauty. But it was the sign of death. That's what it meant. And there she lay with the bloodstained fan at her feet."

"Well, I never."

"You see, Polly, there is a legend about peacocks' feathers.

They are bringers of ill fortune. You remember Miss Lucille and her fan."

"I do indeed. And reason to be thankful for it. I reckon it saved our Fleur's life."

"But getting the jewel cost her lover his."

"I reckon them men would have got him at any time."

"But it was when he was taking the fan to have the jewels set in that it happened. Lucille believed it was the ill luck of the fan."

"Well, she was off her rocker."

"I know she was unbalanced ... but it was due to what happened to her."

"You want to get rid of all them fancy ideas about fans."

"But it means something to them, Polly. They are a strange people. They are not like us. What seems plain common sense here is different there. Dougal found there was a legend about peacocks' feathers. The Khansamah must have believed it, for he gave Lavinia the fan and when he killed her he laid it at her feet. It was a sort of ritual."