I found the one I needed. It was dated some two years ago.

A restless night, [I read]. I waited for S. She did not come. I wish she would agree to our marriage. She keeps saying, "Not yet." Garth is here. He and S. are at loggerheads. I have tried to remonstrate but she calls him an upstart. Feel bewildered by S. She takes such violent dislikes ... to Garth and of course Saul C. for instance.

Malcolm has arrived. He and S. seem to dislike each other in a cold sort of way. She is disdainful towards him and he ignores her, or pretends to. I don't believe anyone can be really indifferent to S.

S. out all afternoon. I wonder where. No use asking. She hates what she calls being spied on. Saw her riding in later. She came out of the stables and met Garth. They talked for a while. I watched from my window. I am always uneasy when they are together. I am always afraid she will say something unforgivable to him and there'll be trouble. They seemed to be on slightly better terms though. Then she came in and he went on. I went down to meet her. She looked hot, I thought. I commented on this and she said sharply: "Well, it's scarcely midwinter!" in that sharp voice of hers which she uses when she's angry. "Watching, were you?" she said. "Yes," I answered, "I saw you meet Garth. I was glad you seem a little less irritated with him than usual." "Oh, did I?" she answered. "Yes," I said, "quite affable." "Affable!" she screamed at me. "I'd never be affable with that man." Then she laughed and kissed me. When S. kisses me I don't think of much else. I wish it was always like that.

S. came last night. I never know when to expect her. She does such extraordinary things. She'd brought a bottle of cider which Carrie Cringle had given her. "Poor Esmond, I believe you feel terrible when I come to your room like this. I won't, you know, if you don't want me to." That is like S. She knew that I wanted her more than anything in the world and sometimes that seems to please her, at others it irritates her. She said, "This will arouse your ardor. It will stifle your scruples. Come on. We'll both drink it." She poured it into two glasses which she had brought with her. She brought mine to me, making me drink it, holding it to my mouth and taking a little sip from the glass herself. It was intoxicating. When I awoke next morning she was gone. There is a poem by Keats which reminds me of S. La belle dame sans merci. S. has me in thrall. There is no doubt about that.

I felt ill next morning. I thought it was the cider. S. came in to see me and was dismayed. "It couldn't have been the cider," she said. "I've suffered no ill effects." I reminded her that she had only sipped from my glass. "Wrong!" she said sharply. "I had a glass myself."

It was a month before Esmond wrote in the diary again.

Better today. Less feeble. S. getting ready to go away. She says she must see her father. I think she is upset about Saul Cringle, who was found hanging in the barn soon after I was taken ill. There has been a lot of talk and some hinted that S. had made his life a misery and threatened to persuade me to take the farm away from them. It is not true. She had never done that. But she had often gone to Cringles' farm. People had seen her riding over there. It was all very unpleasant. I can understand why she wants to get away and she has always been intrigued by her father's disappearance.

The entries after that were sparse.

A letter from S. today. Through someone at the solicitors she has discovered her father's whereabouts. It is some remote island, she writes, where he is a sort of great white chief. She is longing to see it. Garth was here today. Malcolm yesterday. It was pleasant to have them around.

Feeling a little sick today. It reminded me of the illness I had a few months ago. The same dizziness and cramp. Was to have ridden round with Jeff. Malcolm went instead.

A little better today, but not so well in the evening. I think I shall have to call the doctor.

I wish all the time that S. were here. I wonder when she will come home. Malcolm says that he will come to the castle to live if I would like some help. I can see he thinks I'm a bit of a weakling. I thanked him for his offer. He's staying for a while. When S. comes back we'll marry. She won't want Malcolm here. I'll have to be careful what I arrange.

The next entry was a week later.

Too ill to write before. Too tired to write much now. Think all the time of S. Malcolm and Garth are both very good. I wish I could shake off this listlessness.

That was the last entry. I saw by the date that he died soon after he had made it

I shut the book and lay back thoughtfully. It explained little, and I was no nearer to solving the Cringle mystery; but I had a more complete picture of Esmond and Susannah.

I remembered what Cougabel had said of her. She was a witch. She was a spell woman. Perhaps Cougabel was right.

I could not sleep. I was thinking what a dangerous role I had taken on.

Where will it end? I asked myself.

Letters from the Past

The next morning Jeff Carleton came to the castle. He had his own house about half a mile from the castle walls. It had been the residence of the estate manager for generations and it was very pleasant, for Jeff knew how to make himself comfortable. He was a bachelor with a very efficient couple to look after him. Janet said he lived better than we did at the castle, for he didn't have to put up with so many drafts.

Jeff was a man well satisfied with life. He was deeply involved in the castle but not to the point of idolatry. If he had gone to another such estate, in a very short time he would have been as absorbed by it as he was by Mateland. The fact was that Jeff was a very normal man who liked to arrange life to his taste and live it accordingly. We were lucky to have such a good manager.

He had come over to say that he was arranging for the thatcher to call on Granny Bell the following morning. I said I would ride over to tell her.

"That'll please her," he said. "Shell appreciate your telling her. They like to know someone's interested in them."

It was on occasions like this that I felt almost happy. I wanted to do the best I could for these people, to make life easier for them. I wanted to be able to say to myself: I may be masquerading as someone else but at least I am doing more good than she would.

It didn't excuse me, I knew, but it was something in my favor.

So I rode out in high spirits and almost felt like bursting into song as I looked at the hedgerows and green fields and felt the soft breeze on my cheeks.

I came to Granny Bell's cottage, tethered my horse and knocked at the door. There was no answer so I walked in, for the door was on the latch.

I stepped into the living room. Everything was quiet. The table was covered with a woolen cloth; the clock ticked solemnly on the shelf over the fireplace with the old cloam oven at its side.

"Mrs. Bell," I called, "are you at home?"

This room led into the bedroom. I knew the layout of these cottages now and that Granny Bell used the back room on the ground floor as her bedroom as she could not easily manage the stairs.

I knocked on the dividing door. I heard a low sound and, pushing open the door, went in. Granny Bell was lying on the bed; she looked white and strained and was clutching at her chest.

"Mrs. Bell," I cried, "what's wrong?"

She turned her eyes on me and I could see that she was in pain.

"I'm getting the doctor at once," I said, and was gone.

I rode as fast as I could to Dr. Cleghorn. I knew where it was, for I had passed his residence many times. Anabel and my father had both talked of that house; it was the one where he used to practice all those years ago. By good fortune I found Dr. Cleghorn in and we rode back to the cottage.

Granny Bell was out of pain now. He made her lie very still and said she was not to move. He was going to get the district nurse to come and see her.

"Is there anything I can do?" I asked.

"Nothing really. Just make sure she doesn't try to get up. She must not move. The nurse will come to her and, if everyone keeps an eye on her, that's the best thing to be done."

When we were outside he said: "Not much chance of a recovery, I'm afraid. She's had a heart condition for a long time. And she's an old woman. I give her a few months at most and she'll not get up from that bed."

"Poor old lady," I replied. "We must make sure she does not lack anything."

The doctor looked at me strangely. "It's good of you, Miss Mateland," he said. "It will help her if people call. She needs attention. We want a hospital badly. The nearest one I know is twenty miles off. There was talk of having one here once... ."

Yes, I thought, I know. But that hospital was built on an island miles away and destroyed by the Grumbling Giant.

I went back into the cottage and waited for the district nurse. When she came I left and went back to the castle for luncheon. Malcolm was there and I forgot to be nervous. We talked of Granny Bell.

"Cleghorn told me you'd called him," said Malcolm. "He said she would be dead if you hadn't."

I felt immensely gratified.

"I shall go along to see her this afternoon," I said. "They'll have to leave the roof now until she's a bit better. We can't have them doing it while she's ill."

"I'll pass the news to Jeff and he can hold up the work," said Malcolm.

"Oh, please do," I replied.