I hesitated. Then I said: "Yes, I think so."

We changed direction and rode down between the fields of rye and wheat to the farmhouse.

We dismounted and Jeff Carleton tethered our horses. We walked across a yard where fowls were pecking at worms and whatever they could find.

Jeff Carleton pushed open a door which was slightly ajar.

"Anyone at home?" he called.

"Oh, it's you," said a gruff voice. "You can come in."

We stepped into a stone-floored kitchen. It was hot and baking was in progress at the range. A woman at the table had her hands in a basin. She was kneading dough. Seated in the chimney nook was an old man.

"Hello, Moses," said Jeff Carleton. "Hello, Mrs. Cringle. Here's Miss Susannah to see you."

The woman dropped a grudging curtsy. The old man grunted.

"How are you?" I asked warmly.

"Much as we always are," said Moses. "This is a household of mourning."

"I know," I replied. "I'm sorry. But how is everything going on the farm?"

"Jacob slaves away," said the old man. "Morning, noon and night he slaves away."

"And the children give a helping hand," added the woman.

"Still things aren't what they could be," suggested Jeff Carleton.

"We miss Saul," muttered the old man sourly.

"I know," I said.

"The children will be growing up soon," soothed Jeff. "I was wondering whether it would be a good idea to let Gravel Three Acres lie fallow next year. It's not giving a good yield and hasn't for the last year or two."

"It's all along of Saul," put in Moses.

"Well," was Jeff's mild rejoinder, "Saul couldn't do much about that field if he were here. It should lie fallow a year or so, I reckon."

"I'll tell Jacob," put in the woman.

"Do, please, Mrs. Cringle, and if he wants to consult me at any time I'm always available. Well, we'll be getting on."

We came out and Jeff untethered the horses.

"Hardly a gracious reception," I said.

"Did you expect it at Cringles'? They're all obsessed by what happened to Saul. It's a terrible thing for a man to take his life. They regard it as a disgrace to the family. He's buried at the crossroads. The rector wouldn't bury him in consecrated ground. That means a lot to people like the Cringles."

"I suppose so."

I had a desire to put as great a distance as possible between myself and the farmhouse.

We had ridden out into the road and were passing a wooded patch when something whistled past my head, missing me by a few inches before it rattled down onto the road.

"What was that?" I said.

Jeff Carleton leaped from his horse and bent down. He held up a stone. "It must have been children playing," he said.

"A dangerous game," I retorted. "If that had caught me ... or you ... it could have done quite a bit of harm."

He called out: "Who threw that stone?"

There was silence.

Jeff looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. He threw the stone onto the road. Then he darted among the trees calling: "Who's there?"

I was sure I heard the sound of someone running through the bracken.

Jeff came back and mounted his horse. "No one about," he said. "Shall we go on?"

I nodded.

So we rode round the estate and I saw more of the farms and their tenants. I came through without any serious mistakes but I had been really shaken by that stone. I felt certain it had been thrown at me and by someone from the mysterious Cringle household.

When I came back to the house Janet was in the hall. I could not get out of my mind the thought that she was watching me. She seemed relieved to see me.

"Well, you've had a good morning, miss, that's clear," she said.

"Yes, thank you, Janet"

"There was something I wanted to say to you. It's about Mr. Esmond's room. It's up to you to say what's to be done, of course, but I thought you might like to consider turning out that room ... like going through the papers in his desk. It ought to be done sometime and Mrs. Emerald hasn't the heart for it ... and her eyes aren't that good. I thought if you had a mind to it ... you might want to do it ... soon."

"Thanks," I said. "I will sometime."

An excitement had come to me. Who knew? I might learn something from those estate papers in Esmond's desk. Yes, it was an excellent idea. It could prove of inestimable value to me. They might give me all sorts of information which was vital to my role.

I washed quickly and took luncheon with Emerald. She was the easiest of all and I found it quite relaxing to be in her company. Her encroaching blindness was a great help—which seemed a callous thing to think of—but I must admit it had to be a relief; moreover her almost complete self-absorption was a blessing too.

She asked how I had spent my morning and I told her I had ridden round the estate with Jeff Carleton.

"Trust you to go into it right away," she said. "You were always urging Esmond to take more interest. I always said it was the castle you were in love with rather than Esmond."

"Oh, Aunt Emerald," I protested, "how can you say that? But I have always loved the castle."

"You need not tell me. ... So you rode round the estate with Jeff. How lucky you are to be able to get about. I wish I could... ."

So we were off on her favorite topic and I was safe for the rest of the luncheon.

I decided to put Janet's suggestion into practice as early as possible and, when Emerald had retired to her room for her af­ternoon siesta and the household was quiet, I went along to Esmond's room.

I shut the door and stood looking about me. It was an ordinary room—if a room in Mateland Castle could ever be that. The rounded window cut in the wall and the stone window seat alone distinguished it from the rooms I had known before; but it was the furniture in the room which struck me as conventional. There was a sofa, two armchairs, another chair, a small writing table on which stood an oil lamp and the bureau in the corner. The room told me nothing about Esmond.

I went at once to the table. That was where the papers Janet had spoken of would be.

I opened a drawer and saw several notebooks there. I took one out and opened it. A list of names in it was neatly indexed. I turned the pages and saw that it contained information about people and I realized at once that they were people living on the estate.

I saw how useful this information could be to me. If I went through this book carefully I should know the names and something about those who lived on the estate.

I wanted to cry out: "Thank you, Janet, for leading me to this."

"Emma Bell," I read in the list at the beginning. I turned to the page given in the index.

In her seventies. Lived in cottage since she married fifty years ago. Children married and left. All alone. Depends on what she earns as sewing woman.

Now I knew that this was the Emma Bell whose roof was in need of repair.

Tom Camber. Eighty. Came to Mateland aged twelve. To have cottage till he died. Then consider Tom Gelder when he marries Jessie Gill, housemaid.

This was wonderful. I could go through this book and know all about these people before I met them. I couldn't have a better aid to bolster my position.

I read on with increasing gratification. I decided I would take the book away with me to study. I was enormously exhilarated at the thought of riding round the estate and perhaps meeting Tom Gelder and telling him he should have the cottage when it fell vacant.

These people were coming alive to me and I desperately wanted to make them happy and glad that I had become the lady of the castle. It would ease my conscience considerably and, as I read about them and thought what I could do, part of that overpowering sense of guilt started to slip away from me.

I was deep in the book when I heard the door open. I started and turned sharply, feeling the color flood into my face.

It was Janet standing there.

"Oh, I thought I heard someone here," she said. "But I wasn't sure. So you're going through the papers like I said." She was watching me intently and I felt sure that she was suspicious of me.

"I took up your suggestion," I said. "It's all very neat in here."

"Oh, some of those papers need going through," replied Janet. "I'm glad you're doing it. We don't want Mrs. Emerald starting on it and upsetting herself."

"There seems to be information relating to the estate here."

"That's what it would be. Perhaps inside the bureau ..."

"The bureau is locked."

"There must be a key somewhere. Now where did Mr. Esmond keep it?"

She was looking at me with a strange expression on her face-half amusement, half dismay. I could not understand Janet at all.

She clicked her fingers and went on: "I think it was kept in this vase. That's right. I found it when I was dusting in here. I thought I'd better dust in here myself. You know how some of these girls are about dead men's things. As soon as someone dies they think he turns into a hobgoblin—though Mr. Esmond was the mildest of men and never had a cross word for anyone. Oh yes, here it is. In this vase. I think you'll find this one fits."

"Are you sure that it's all right?"

"All right, Miss Susannah?"

"I mean ... looking into private papers."

Her gaze never left my face and I saw her mouth curl into a smile. For a fearful moment I thought: She knows. She is mocking me. That smile means it's amusing that I who am committing this great fraud should have any scruples at all.