"We are having a musical evening next Friday," she said one day. "Anabel should come. She should stay the night as it will be late before it is over, and that will be much simpler. Jennings has the dress she will wear in the carriage. He will bring it in."

My father, struggling with his self-respect, said: "Oh, that isn't necessary, you know. I dare say we can buy a dress for Anabel."

Aunt Amy Jane laughed. I noticed that her laugh was rarely mirthful. It was usually intended to dismiss or denigrate the folly of the one to whom it was directed.

"That would be quite impossible, my dear James." When she said "my dear" that was very often a term of reproach. I was struck by that. Laughter was supposed to express gayety; endearments were for expressing affection. Aunt Amy Jane turned them about. I supposed it came of being such an efficient, highly respectable, always-right sort of person. "You can hardly be expected to buy suitable clothes on your stipend." A repetition of the laugh as her eyes swept round our humble sitting room and mentally compared it with the fine hall at Seton Manor, which had been in the Seton family for hundreds of years with the gleaming swords on the wall and the tapestries which had been in the family for generations and were reputed to be Gobelins. "No, no, James, leave this to me. I owe it to Susan Ellen." The hushed note in her voice indicated that she was speaking of the dead. "It was what she would have wished. She would never have wanted Anabel to be brought up like a savage."

My father opened his mouth to protest but by this time Aunt Amy Jane had turned to me. "Janet can adjust it. It will be quite simple." Other people's tasks always were in Aunt Amy Jane's eyes. It was only those she undertook herself which demanded so much. She was regarding me somewhat malevolently, I thought. "I hope, Anabel," she went on, "that you will behave with decorum and not upset Jessamy."

"Oh yes, Aunt Amy Jane, I will and I won't."

I felt an irresistible desire to giggle, which I am afraid came to me quite frequently in the presence of a number of people.

My aunt seemed to sense this. She said in a low funereal voice: "Always remember what your mother would wish."

I was on the point of saying that I was not sure what my mother would wish, for I was argumentative by nature, and I could never resist the temptation to get a point cleared up. I had heard from some of the servants at Seton Hall that my mother had not been at all the saint Aunt Amy Jane was turning her into. My aunt seemed to have forgotten that she had been so headstrong in making a marriage with a poor curate. The servants said that Miss Susan Ellen had been "a bit of a caution. Always got a finger in some pie and making a joke of it. Come to think of it, Miss Anabel, you're the spitting image of her." That was damning enough.

Well, I went to the musical evening in Jessamy's watered silk, which was really very beautiful. Jessamy said: "Yes, you look prettier in it than I did, Anabel."

She was a sweet girl, Jessamy was, which makes what I did to her all the more reprehensible. I led her into constant mischief. There was the affair of the gypsies, which will give you a good idea of what I mean.

We were forbidden to walk in the woods alone, but the very fact that the woods were out of bounds made them specially fascinating to me.

Jessamy did not want to go. She was the sort of girl who liked to do exactly what she was told; she saw it all as for her own good. Heaven knew that was the explanation given to us often enough. I was exactly the opposite; and I took a great delight in trying to prove which was the stronger—my powers of persuasion or Jessamy's desire to keep to the paths of righteousness.

I invariably won because I went on worrying her until I did. So at length I persuaded her to venture into the woods where some gypsies were camping. We could have a quick look, I said, and go away before they saw us.

The fact that there were gypsies in the woods made it all the more important that we should not venture into them. However, I was determined and I taunted Jessamy with cowardice so mercilessly that at length she agreed to accompany me.

We came to a caravan. There was a fire smoking nearby with a pot boiling on it. It smelled quite good. Seated on the steps of the caravan was a woman in a torn red shawl and with brass rings in her ears. She was a typical gypsy, with a tangle of black hair and big sparkling dark eyes.

"Good day to you, pretty ladies," she cried out when she saw us.

"Good day," I replied, gripping Jessamy's arm, for I had a feeling she was going to turn and run.

"Don't be shy," said the woman. "My! You are two fine little ladies. I reckon there's a bonny fortune waiting for you."

I was enthralled by the prospect of looking into the future. I always have been. I could never then and cannot now resist a fortuneteller.

"Come on, Jessamy," I said, dragging her forward.

"I think we ought to go back," she whispered.

"Come on," I said, holding her firmly. She did not like to protest. She was afraid it might seem ill-mannered towards the gypsies. Jessamy was always considering what was good and bad manners, and she was terrified of committing the latter.

"Now you two has come from the big house, I reckon," said the woman.

"She has," I told her. "I'm from the vicarage."

"Oh, holy, holy," said the woman. Her eyes were on Jessamy, who was wearing a fine gold chain with a gold locket in the shape of a heart attached to it. "Well, my pretty," she went on, "I'm sure you've got a good fortune waiting for you."

"Have I?" I asked, holding out my hand.

She took it. "You'll be the one who makes her own fortune."

"Doesn't everybody?" I asked.

"Oh, clever, are you? I see. Yes, we do ... with a little help from fate, eh? You've got a great future, you have. You'll meet a tall dark stranger and you'll sail across the seas. And gold ... yes, I see gold. Oh, you've got a great future, you have, missy. Now let me look at the other little lady."

Jessamy hesitated, and I held up her hand. I noticed how brown and grubby the gypsy's was compared with Jessamy's.

"Oooh. Now you're going to have the luck, you are. You're going to marry a lord and have silk sheets to sleep in. There'll be gold rings on your fingers ... finer than this here chain." She had taken the chain in her other hand and was examining it. "Oh yes, you've got a fine and bonny future before you."

A man had strolled up. He was dark like the woman.

"You been telling the ladies' future, Cora?" he asked.

"Bless their little hearts," she said softly, "they wanted to hear their fortunes. This little 'un comes from the big house."

The man nodded. I did not much like the look of him. His eyes were sharp like a ferret's, whereas the woman was fat and comfortable-looking.

"Hope they crossed your palm with silver, Cora," he said.

She shook her head.

The little ferret eyes were gleaming. "Oh, that's terrible unlucky, that is. You must cross the gypsy's palm with silver."

"What will happen if we don't?" I asked with curiosity.

"It would all turn topsy-turvy. All the good would be bad. Oh, that's terrible unlucky ... not to cross the gypsy's palm with silver."

"We haven't got any silver," said Jessamy, aghast.

The man had his hands on the chain. He tugged at it and the clasp came undone. He laughed and I noticed what unpleasant teeth he had; they were black, like fangs.

It occurred to me that our elders had been right and it was unwise to go walking in the woods.

The man was holding up the chain and looking at it intently.

"It's my best chain," said Jessamy. "It was given to me by my papa."

"Your papa is a very rich man. I reckon he'll give you another."

"That was for my birthday. Please give it back to me. My mother will be angry if I lose it."

The man nudged the woman. "I reckon Cora would be angry if we didn't have it," he said. "You see, she's given you a service. She's read your fortunes. Now that's something that has to be paid for. You have to cross the gypsy's palm with silver ... if you don't terrible disaster will befall you. That's so, ain't it, Cora? Cora knows. She's got the powers. She's in touch with them that knows. The Devil's a great friend of hers, too. He says to her, 'If any don't treat you right, Cora, you just let me know.' Well, telling fortunes without crossing the gypsy's palm is all against the rule. But gold will do ... gold will do just as well."

Jessamy was standing as though transfixed with horror. She was staring at her chain in the man's hands. I sensed danger. I could see his little eyes looking at our clothes, particularly Jessamy's. She was wearing a gold bracelet too. It was mercifully hidden by her sleeve.

I suddenly knew we had to get away quickly. I seized her hand and dashed away, running as fast as I could, dragging her with me. From the corner of my eye I saw the man start after us.

The woman shouted. "Let 'em be. Don't be a fool, Jem. Let 'em go, and put the horses on the van."

Jessamy was panting behind me. I stopped and listened. The man had taken Cora's advice and we were not being followed.

"He's gone," I said.

"So is my chain," said Jessamy mournfully.

"We'll tell them he came up to us and snatched it."

"That's not quite true," said Jessamy. Oh dear, I thought, these sticklers for the truth, how trying they could be!

"He did snatch it," I insisted. "We mustn't tell them how far into the woods we went. Well just say he came up and snatched it."