“It was those people coming this afternoon that brought it all back.

The man came from Australia. That was where he went all those years ago. “

“Who, Mamma?”

“Charles. I wish you could have known Charles. There was no one quite like him ever.”

“And who was he?”

“How could you say who Charles was? He came here as a drawing-master, my drawing-master. But he was more than that. I remember the day he arrived. I was in the schoolroom then. I was sixteen—younger than you are now. He was a few years older. He came in looking bold and arrogant—not in the ‘least like a drawing-master and said: ” Are you Miss Dorian? I’ve come to teach you. ” And he taught me so much, Minta, so very much.”

“Mamma,” I said, ‘what made those people remind you of him? “

“Because they came from Australia and that was where he went—where they sent him. And that young man reminded me of him in a way. There was an air about him. Do you know what I mean? He didn’t care what people thought of him. He knew he was as good—no, better—than anyone. Do you know what I mean?”

Yes, I do. “

“It was cruel,” she went on.

“I hated your grandfather after that.

Charles was innocent. As if he cared about my jewels! He wanted me . not what I could bring him. I’m sure of that, Minta. “

She had changed. The peevish invalid bad disappeared. She even looked beautiful as she must have been years ago. I knew there was something significant about that visit this afternoon and I was enormously interested.

“Tell me about it,” I begged.

“Oh, my dear Minta, it seems like yesterday. I wish I could describe Charles to you.”

“You were in love with him, I suppose.”

“Yes,” she said.

“And I have been all my life.”

I felt this was disloyal to my father and I protested.

“Isn’t that because he went out of your life when he was young and handsome and you’ve always seen him like that? If you could see him now you might have a terrible shock.”

“If I could see him now …” Her eyes were dreamy.

“That young man reminded me so much … it brought it all back. Those days when we were in the schoolroom; and then he said we must work out of doors. We would sit under the chestnut tree … where we were sitting this afternoon and he would sketch the flowers or a bird and I would have to copy it. Then we went for walks together, studying wild life and trying to put it on paper. He used to talk about Whiteladies as Lucie does. It’s strange how people are impressed by the house. He never tired of talking of it. And then we were in love and going to be married, and of course your grandfather would not allow it.”

“You were only about seventeen. Mamma. Perhaps you were carried away.”

“There are some things one can be sure of however young. I was sure of this. Once having known Charles, I was certain that no one else would ever mean to me what he did. He said we must not tell your grandfather, that he would forbid our marriage and something dreadful would happen, for your grandfather was a very powerful man. But he discovered what was going on. Someone must have told him, and Charles was dismissed. We planned to elope. My father was afraid of Charles for he knew he was no ordinary young man. I was guarded all the time but the notes were smuggled in and we made our arrangements. He climbed to my room on the night we were going away together. I gave him my jewellery to put in his pockets and keep for me while we climbed down.” Her lips began to tremble.

“We were betrayed. The jewellery was found on him and he was transported for seven years.

Your grandfather was a hard man and my heart was broken. “

“Poor Mamma, what a sad story! But would you have been happy with him? “

“If you had ever known him you would understand. I could be happy with no one else. He thought that if we married, my father would forgive us in time. I was after all his only daughter. Our children would be his grandchildren. Charles used to say: ” Our children will play on the lawns of Whiteladies, never fear. ” But they sent him away and I never saw him again. I shall never, never forget.”

I understood then the reason for all those peevish years. She believed life had cheated her. Her love for this man she had chosen had turned into discontent with the husband who had been chosen for her. I should have been more tolerant towards her. I should try to be now.

“And at the back of my mind,” she went on, in an unusually revelatory manner, “I always thought there was something I should have done. I was my father’s only child. I could have threatened to run away, to kill myself—anything. I believe now that if I had, something would have been done. But I was afraid of your grandfather and I let them take him away without protest and five years later I married your father because that was what my father wished.”

“Well, Mamma,” I reminded her, “Papa is a very good man. And this drawing-master might not have been all you imagined him to be.”

“Life with him might not always have been easy, but it would have been wonderfully worth while. As it is …”

“You have a great deal to be thankful for. Mamma,” I reminded her again; and she smiled at me rather wanly.

“I was a little reconciled when you were born, Minta. But that was a long time after our marriage. I thought we should never have a child.

Perhaps if you had arrived earlier . and then of course your birth had such an effect on my health. “

She was her wan self again recalling the terrible period of gestation, the fearful ordeal of my arrival. I had heard it before and was not eager to do so again.

“And because those people came this afternoon you were reminded of the past,” I said quickly.

“I wish I knew what happened to him, Minta. To be sent away as a convict. That proud man!”

“I daresay he was ingenious enough to find a niche for himself.”

She smiled.

“That was a thought I consoled myself with.”

There was a knock on the door and Lizzie came in. Lizzie was about a year or so older than my mother. She had been nurse to me and before that my mother’s maid. She treated me still as though I were a baby and was more familiar with my mother than any of the servants were. She had thick grey hair which was a riot of curls about her head; it was her only beauty but striking enough even now to make people look twice at her.

“You’re keeping your mother from her sleep. Miss Minta,” she said.

“I thought she was tired out. “

“We’ve been talking,” I said.

Lizzie clicked her tongue.

“I know.” She turned to my mother.

“Shall I settle you for the night?”

My mother nodded so I kissed her good night and went out.

As I shut the door I heard her say eagerly and with the rare excited note in her voice: “When I saw that young man this afternoon, it took me back years. You remember how he used to sit on the lawn with his sketching pad …”

I went to my room. Lizzie would have been here at the time, I thought.

She would have seen it all.

Poor Mamma! How dreadful to live one’s life in discontent, constantly dreaming of what might have been.

I found it difficult to sleep. The afternoon visitors had affected me as they had my mother.

The memory of that visit stayed with me for days afterwards. I should have liked to discuss it with Lucie but I felt that what my mother had told me had been in confidence. There was a painting of her which had been done about two years after the abortive elopement and she certainly appeared very beautiful. I looked at it differently now and saw the haunting sadness in her eyes. I thought of Grandfather Dorian, whom I vaguely remembered as a great power in the house, whose gruff commands used to send shivers of alarm down my young spine. I could imagine how stem he would have been with his own daughter. He approved of Papa-as a husband, of course. Papa had been a titled gentleman of some means and highly suitable; he would have been gentle and submissive and have agreed to take up residence at Whiteladies. He had had a house nearby and an estate in Somerset which had come into his family’s possession in 1749 when they had sprung into prominence through their loyalty to the Hanoverian cause. After that they had begun to build their fortune. We used to visit Somerset sometimes twice a year, but Papa had sold the estate two years ago as he had his other house. It was expensive to run them and we needed the money, he said. I wondered how poor Mamma had felt when she knew she was to be married. But she must have known she had lost her Charles for ever. I wondered, too, whether she had made any pretence of loving Papa.

I was in the garden picking flowers for the vases when Dr. Hunter came out of the house. I called to him and he stood smiling at me.

“You have just been to see Mamma?” I asked. He said that he had, and I went on; “I’d like to talk to you about her. Don’t let her see us, though. She may look out from the window. She would immediately imagine that we were discussing some terrible new disease she had contracted.”

“Why not show me the roses?” he suggested.

“A good idea, but better still, come into the pond garden. We’ll be really out of sight there.”

The pond garden was surrounded by a pleasant alley which, in summer, made a luxuriantly green arch. I loved the pond garden; it seemed shut away from the rest of the house. I was sure that Mamma and her artist lover had sat there by the water making their plans, feeling shut away from the world. The flowers used to be much more colourful when I was a child. We had more people working in the garden then, and gardeners would change overnight the spring tints for the rich shades of summer.