She put a hand over her eyes.

“That’s better,” I said firmly. I sat down by the bed. “I want to talk to you.”

She looked at me rather sullenly. A sultry beauty she must have been when she was well.

“Dr. Elgin has suggested that you need a nurse.”

“That’s no good,” she said.

“Dr. Elgin thinks so, and we shall see, shan’t we?”

We took measure of each other. The high flush in the cheeks, the unnatural brightness of the eyes, bore out what Dr. Elgin had told me of her. She was consumptive and the attacks of asthma must be alarming when they occurred. But I was interested in her more as a person than a sick woman because she was the wife of Anna’s Captain and I wondered why he had married her and how it had all come about. I should discover in due course, I had no doubt.

“It’s too cold here,” she said. “I hate the cold.”

“You need fresh air. And we must watch your diet. Dr. Elgin visits you frequently, I suppose.”

“Twice a week,” she said.

She closed her eyes; quiet, sullen, and yet smoldering. I was aware that she could be far from quiet.

“Dr. Elgin is working out a diet chart for you. We shall have to see about getting you well,” I said in my bright nurse’s voice.

She turned her face away.

“Well,” I went on, “now that we’ve met I’ll go to my room. I daresay it is close to yours.”

“It’s the next to it.”

“Ah, good. I can find my way there then without bothering anyone.”

I went out of the room and into the next one. I knew it was mine because my bags were there. The shape of it indicated that it was part of the tower. I went to the window which was really a door — of the french window type — opening onto a balcony or rather a parapet. Anachronism, I thought. I must ask Anna. What a view from the parapet — the deep gorge and the river below and on the other side the houses of Langmouth.

I unpacked my bags and as I did so the door was cautiously opened and a small face peered round at me. It was a boy of about seven. He said: “Hello. You’re a nurse.”

“That’s right,” I replied. “How do you know?”

“They said so.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Edward.”

“How do you do, Edward.” I put out my hand and he shook it gravely.

“Nurses come for ill people,” he told me.

“And make them well,” I added.

His enormous dark eyes regarded me as though I were some goddess.

“You’re clever,” he said.

“Very,” I admitted.

“Can you do twice one are two?”

“Twice two are four. Twice three are six,” I told him.

He laughed. “And a, b, c?”

I went through the alphabet with great speed. I had impressed him.

“Are those your clothes?” I told him they were. “Have you medicines for making people die?”

I was taken aback. “Like the furniture lady,” he added.

He was sharp; I could see that. I said quickly: “Only for making people well.”

“But …” he began; then he was alert.

“Master Edward,” called a voice.

He looked at me and hunched his shoulders; he put his fingers to his lips.

“Master Edward.”

We were both silent, but he had left my door open and his governess came in. She was tall, angular, and wore a most unbecoming gray blouse with a brown skirt — hideous combination; her hair was gray too, so was her skin.

“Oh,” she said, “you’re the new nurse. I hope Edward has not been annoying you.”

“Entertaining me rather.”

“He is really far too precocious.”

She had rabbity teeth and rabbity eyes. We took an instant dislike to each other.

“Come along, Edward,” she said. “You must not disturb your Mamma.”

“His Mamma is my patient, I believe,” I said.

She nodded.

“I shall soon learn my way around,” I added.

“You’ve just come from the Queen’s House.” Her eyes were alert. Young Edward looked from one to the other of us.

“My last case was there.”

“H’m.” She looked at the child, and I thought: How gossip spread! And thought of Anna and the horrible things which had been said about her. They were even inclined to regard me with some sort of suspicion; how much more so they would have regarded Anna!

She sighed. She dared not talk in front of the child. I wished he was not there so that I could discover more, but I had plenty of time.

She took him away and while I unpacked, a parlormaid brought tea to my room. Baines came with her ostensibly to see that she served it in the correct manner but actually to inform me that my meals would be taken in my own room. I realized that this was an edict from Lady Crediton and that he only ventured into this part of the house to deliver such commands.

I was beginning to learn something about the ways of Castle Crediton.


April 30th. This is my third day and I feel as though I have been here for months. I miss Anna. There is no one here with whom I can be friendly. If Miss Beddoes, the governess, were a different type, she might be useful, but she’s a bore, always anxious to impress on me that she has come down in the world. A vicar’s daughter, she told me. I said: “Snap. So am I.” She looked startled. I’m sure she was surprised that one so lacking in decorum should have come out of a vicarage. “What can one do,” she demanded. “One has never been brought up to work for a living, and suddenly it is a necessity.”

“Ah,” I replied, “that’s where I was more fortunate. I knew from my earliest days that I should have to battle for my bread in a cruel world, so I prepared myself.”

“Really,” she replied with cold disdain. But she does regard me a little more kindly since we both came from similar stables, or as she would say, were “distressed gentlewomen.”

She has told me quite a lot about the family, and for that I’m grateful. She whispered that she believes there is a streak of madness in my patient. I would call it hysteria. Mrs. Stretton is a passionate woman deprived of a husband. I think she is obsessed by him. She writes letters to him every day and tears half of them up. Scraps of paper fill her wastepaper basket. He, Miss Beddoes, tells me, is not very welcome in the house since his “disgrace.” What disgrace? I wanted to know. But she couldn’t tell me. It is something which is Never Spoken Of. They seem to want to keep him far away. But because of the child they brought Mrs. Stretton over here. “You see,” she said, “until Mr. Rex marries, that child is in a way a sort of heir.” It’s a muddled setup and I haven’t quite worked it out, but I intend to. My patient takes up so much time. I cook for her because Dr. Elgin wishes her diet to be watched. She is like a child and I suspect her of getting one of the servants to smuggle chocolates to her. She likes coffee and makes it herself. There is a spirit lamp in her room for the purpose. I think if she were well she would be fat. She is indolent and likes to stay in bed, but Dr. Elgin does want her to rest. She orders the maids to shut the windows after I’ve opened them. She hates what she calls the “cold,” and fresh air is an important part of the treatment.

I discovered this afternoon that Baines’ wife, Edith, is Ellen’s sister. She came to my room especially to tell me so. She wanted to say that if there was anything she could do to make me comfortable she would be pleased to do it. Great condescension from the butler’s wife. She looks after all the maids and they are quite in awe of her. Ellen must have given me a good reference.


May 1st. Two exciting things happened today. I am growing more and more pleased with Castle life. There is something about this place — an atmosphere of tension. I’m never quite sure of what my hysterical patient is going to do, and I’m constantly aware of intrigue. For instance there is what happened to the Captain to make him unwelcome here. I think that if they didn’t want him here they might have left his wife where she was. He could have visited her now and then, I suppose. It is some island. She has mentioned it to me as “the Island.” I wanted to know where but refrained from asking. She is inclined to retreat if one is too curious.

The first adventure was my meeting with the Crediton heir. None other than Rex himself. I had settled my patient for an afternoon rest and had taken a little walk in the gardens. They are as magnificent as I expected them to be. There are four gardeners living on the estate with wives who work at the Castle. The lawns look like squares of fine green velvet; I never see them without wishing that I had a dress made out of them; the herbacious borders will be dazzling later on I’m sure. Now the big features are the lovely aubrietia and arabis — in mauve and white clumps growing on gray stone on the terraces, and of course Castle Crediton aubrietia and arabis must be twice as bushy as anyone else’s. That is the first thing that occurs to me in this place: opulence. You know it’s the home of a millionaire and a first or second generation one. There is a continual straining after tradition, the Creditons want the best ancestry, the best background that money can buy. It’s different from the Henrock’s place where I nursed poor Lady Henrock — and very successfully for she left me five hundred pounds in her will — just before going to the Queen’s House. There had been Henrocks at Henrock Manor for the last five hundred years. It was shabby in places but I could see the difference. As I was inspecting the most elaborate of sundials whom should I see bearing towards me than the heir to the millions, Rex Crediton himself. Mr. Rex, not Sir Rex; Sir Edward was only a knight. I am sure that must be rather a sore point with her ladyship. He is of medium height and good-looking but not exactly handsome; he has an air of assurance and yet there is something diffident about him. His clothes were immaculately tailored; I think he must get them in Savile Row. There’d never be anything quite like that in Langmouth. He looked surprised to see me so I thought I would introduce myself.