I followed the direction, guessing that his attention had been distracted and he had relinquished the strap and left the toy somewhere on the way. I would descend the stairs and go out to one of the front lawns where he had played that morning.

When I reached the top of the staircase I saw the elephant. It was lying on the second stair from the top and caught in it was a shoe.

I went closer. A high-heeled shoe caught in the cloth of the elephant's coat! Whose shoe?

I stood up holding the toy in one hand, the shoe in the other, and as I did so I saw a form at the bottom of the staircase.

My heart was beating as though it would burst out of my body as I ran down the stairs.

Lying at the foot of the stairs was Judith.

"Judith," I whispered. I knelt beside her. She was very still. She wasn't breathing and I knew that she was dead.

It seemed now that the house was watching me. There I was alone in it ... with death. In one hand I held the shoe—in the other the toy elephant.

I could see it all so clearly. The toy lying at the top of the stairs; Judith coming down, slightly tipsy, not seeing the toy. I could picture her stepping on it, her heel catching in the cloth—her balance lost; the sudden descent, down the great staircase which I had mounted once so proudly in my red velvet dress ... down to death.

And this because my son had left his toy on the stairs—a death trap innocently set.

I closed my eyes and I thought of the whisperings! The little boy was responsible for her death in a manner of speaking. ... It was the sort of story they loved, that lived on for years.

And he would know it, and even though none could say it was his fault, it would cloud his happiness to know that he was responsible for her death.

Why should his bright future be clouded because a drunken woman had fallen down the stairs and broken her neck?

The great silence of the house was unnerving. It was as though time had stopped—the clocks had stopped and there was no sound whatever. Great events had taken place within these walls over the centuries. Something told me that I was now facing one of those occasions.

Then time seemed to begin again. I heard the ticking of the grandfather clock as I knelt down by Judith. There was no doubt that she was dead.

I laid the shoe on the stairs; but I took the elephant back to the nursery and left it there. No one was going to say that Judith had died because of my son's action.

Then I ran out of the house, as fast as I could to Dr. Milliard's.

5

Death in the Abbas. A hushed atmosphere. The blinds drawn to shut out the sun. The servants creeping about on tiptoe, speaking in whispers.

In that bedroom where I had so often dressed her hair, Judith lay in her coffin. The servants hurried past the closed door, eyes averted. I was oddly moved to see her lying there, in the white frilled cap and the white nightdress, looking more at peace than she ever had in life.

Justin shut himself in his room and was seen by no one. Mrs. Rolt took trays up to his room but she brought them all down again, the food untouched. There was a grim look about her mouth. I guessed that in the kitchen she said: "It's on his conscience. Poor lady! Can you wonder at it?" And they would all agree because of their unwritten law that the dead were sanctified.

The events of that day stand out clearly in my mind. I remember running along the road in the hot sun, finding Dr. Hilliard asleep in his garden, a newspaper over his head to protect him from the sun, blurting out that there had been an accident, and going back to the Abbas with him. The house was still silent; the shoe lay on the stairs; but the elephant was in the nursery.

I stood there beside him as he touched her poor face.

"This is terrible," he murmured. "Terrible."

Then he looked up the stairs and at her shoe. "She'd been drinking," he went on.

I nodded.

He stood up. "There's nothing I can do for her."

"Would it have been instantaneous?" I asked.

He lifted his shoulders. "I should think so. No one heard her fall?"

I explained that the servants were all at the circus. It was the one occasion of the year when the house was empty.

"Where is Sir Justin?"

"I don't know. My husband has gone to Plymouth on estate duty and Lady St. Larnston is in the garden with my son."

He nodded. "You look shaken, Mrs. St. Larnston."

"It was a great shock."

"Exactly. Well, we must try and get hold of Sir Justin as soon as possible. Where would he be at this time of day?"

I knew where he was ... with Mellyora; and then the fear struck at me for the first time. He was free now ... free to marry Mellyora. In a year—which would be a respectable time—they would marry. Perhaps in another they would have a son. I had been so intent on arranging that Carlyon's toy should not be involved in the accident that I had not realized that what I dreaded might after all happen.

Dr. Hilliard was talking, giving instructions; but I merely stood still and it was as though the house itself were mocking me.

Later that day Judith's parents arrived at the Abbas. Her mother was very like Judith—statuesque with the same tortured eyes. They were indeed tortured on this occasion.

She went to the room where Judith lay on her bed, for they had not yet made her coffin. I heard her wild sobbing and her reproaches.

"What have you done to my daughter? Why did I ever let her come to this house?"

The servants heard. I met Mrs. Rolt on the stairs and she lowered her eyes so that I should not see the excitement there. This was a situation the servants loved. Scandal in high places. While they talked of the death of Judith, they would speak in the same breath of her unhappiness and that last scene when she had betrayed before them all her jealousy of Mellyora.

Jane Carwillen called at the Abbas, having arranged for one of the Der-rise grooms to drive her over. Doll received her and tried to prevent her from entering the house but she thrust the girl aside and demanded: "Where be my young lady? Take me to her."

I heard the commotion and came into the hall. As soon as I saw her I said: "Come with me, I will take you to her."

And I led the way to that room where Judith lay in her coffin.

Jane Carwillen stood beside it, looking down at Judith. She did not weep; she did not speak but I saw the grief in her face and I knew that a hundred little incidents of Judith's childhood were passing through her mind.

"And her so young," she said at last. "Why did it have to be?"

I whispered gently: "These things happen."

She turned on me fiercely. "There was no need. She were young. Her whole life were before her."

She turned away and as we left the room of death together we encountered Justin. The look of hatred Jane Carwillen flashed at him startled me.

Mrs. Rolt was waiting in the hall. She eyed Jane Carwillen eagerly. "I was thinking Miss Carwillen might take a glass of wine for comfort," she said.

"There hain't be no comfort you nor any can give me," answered Jane.

"There be always comfort in a sorrow shared," put in Mrs. Rolt. "You open your heart to us ... and we'll open ours to 'ee."

Was that a message? Did it mean we have something to tell you which we think you ought to know?

Perhaps Jane thought so because she agreed to go to the kitchen and take a glass of wine.

Half an hour later, knowing she had not left the house I made an excuse to go down to the kitchens.

I knew that the servants were telling Jane about that occasion when Judith had accused her husband and Mellyora of being lovers. For the first time it was being said Judith's death was not an accident.

The verdict at the inquest was accidental death. Judith it seemed, had been in a state of semi-intoxication; and thus had missed her footing on the stairs and plunged down to her death.

I gave evidence, since I had found her, explaining how I had come to the house to look for my son's toy; then I had seen Judith lying at the bottom of the staircase, her shoe on one of the lower stairs. No one doubted me, although I was afraid my nervousness would betray me. It was presumed that I was upset, which was natural.

Sir Justin seemed to have aged ten years. I could see how he was reproaching himself. As for Mellyora, she looked like a ghost. I knew that she hated meeting any of the servants. She had forgotten all about the interview which she was supposed to have had and was too numbed by what had happened even to think very clearly. How different she was from me! Had I been in her place, I assured myself, I should have been exulting now, seeing the future clear before me. I should have snapped my fingers at the servants' gossip. What was there to worry about when soon one would be mistress of the house, with the power to dismiss any of them. They would know this and adjust their attitude accordingly. But at the moment they were not sure which turn events would take.

But perhaps one of the most uneasy people in the house was myself. My son's future was at stake. He was everything to me now. I did not care to look too closely at my own life. My marriage was not satisfactory, and there were times when I disliked Johnny. I wanted children and that was the only reason I tolerated him. I did not love him; I had never loved him; but there was a bond of sensuality between us which served as love. I had often dreamed of a love which would give me all I wanted from life and more especially so now. I wanted a husband to whom I could turn; who would comfort me and make my life worth while, even if my ambitious dreams were thwarted. Never had I felt as lonely as I did at this time because I had been shown how by one thrust of fate dreams could be destroyed. I had felt myself to be powerful, able to will destiny to give me what I wanted; but had not Granny told me, time after time, that fate was more powerful than I. I felt weak and helpless; and feeling thus, I wanted a strong arm about me. I thought increasingly of Kim. That night in the woods had been significant in more ways than one. It had decided my future as well as Joe's.