“You practically told him you were.”

“I felt you were on his side.”

“What nonsense! As if it were a matter of taking sides. Let’s go up the staircase.”

There were three floors and some twelve rooms. The rooms were big and airy; I loved the long windows which reached to the floor.

“We’re going to take it, Stirling,” I said; and he did not contradict.

He was really as fascinated with the house as I was; and being tenants of the Wakefields, we could almost certainly meet the owners of Whiteladies. I was not sure what plans Stirling had and how quickly he hoped to acquire the place, but I. guessed it would take a long time, and it would certainly be more satisfactory having the Mercer’s House than an inn as our temporary home while we waited.

“Well?” he asked, when we had been through the house.

“We’re going to tell Mr. Wakefield that we’re taking it.”

We walked across the park and to the house which was called Wakefield Park. It was a big house—early Victorian, I judged, with its heavy ornate architecture. It looked strong and solid. On the front lawn was a pond in which a fountain played. White stone steps led to a terrace on which were seats. The flowers grew neatly, even primly.

“It’s just the sort of house he would have,” I commented.

“You can be sure everything is in its proper place,” added Stirling.

Then he mimicked: “It is fitting that each and every appurtenance of this house is lodged in the place assigned to it.”

“I don’t believe you like him.”

“Do you?”

“I like the Mercer’s House. That’s good enough.”

Along one wall of the house was a vinery. I could see the vine trained along the glass to catch the sun. There were pots of exotic-looking flowers in there too.

“You must admit,” I said, ‘that there is something imposing about his house. “

We mounted the steps of the terrace to the porch, on one side of which hung a bell. When pulled this gave a hollow clanging and almost immediately a manservant appeared.

“You would be Mr. and Mrs. Herrick,” he said.

“Mr. Wakefield is in the library with Sir Everard and her ladyship. I’m requested to conduct you there.”

I threw Stirling a glance as much to say: “You see how well ordered everything is.”

“What did you expect from Mr. Wakefield?” he flashed back.

The hall was enormous and somewhat oppressive. The heads of two stags adorned the wall on either side of that of a tiger. There were various portraits which we had no time then to study. A staircase with elaborately carved banisters curved upwards. We mounted this in the wake of the butler.

“Mr. and Mrs. Herrick!” he announced after knocking and opening a door.

Mr. Wakefield was there with a youngish man and an elderly man and woman.

“So good of you to come,” said Mr. Wakefield.

“May I present you to my parents—Sir Everard and Lady Wakefield and Dr. Hunter.

Lady Wakefield was a frail old lady who gave me a pleasant smile; then I turned to Sir Everard.

“You will forgive my not rising,” he said; and I noticed he was in a wheelchair with a tartan rug about his knees.

The doctor shook hands.

“Dr. Hunter has just been making one of his calls,” said Lady Wakefield.

“If you are going to live here, and need a good doctor—which I hope you won’t—you will find him excellent. Franklyn, do ring for fresh tea.”

“I have already told them to bring it if and when Mr. and Mrs. Herrick called,” “So thoughtful,” said Lady Wakefield with an adoring look at her son, who said in his dignified manner: “Pray be seated.”

“We have come to tell you that we are delighted with the Mercer’s House,” I told him, ‘and we want to take it. “

Splendid,” said Mr. Wakefield.

“It’s time it was lived in,” added Sir Everard.

“It doesn’t do the place any good to be left standing empty.”

“It’s a charming old place,” put in the doctor.

There was a knock at the door and a trolley was wheeled in accompanied by a footman and a parlour maid Life was clearly lived in an elegant fashion at Wakefield Park.

“Mr. and Mrs. Herrick are looking for a house in the neighbourhood, I gathered,” said Franklyn.

“That’s why they are taking the Mercer’s House temporarily.”

“They are not easy to find,” the doctor warned us.

“That is, if you want a house of character.”

“We do,” I replied.

“We have noticed a charming old place,” began Stirling.

“Whiteladies!” Lady Wakefield smiled.

“A most unusual place. It’s actually built on the site of an old convent. In fact some of the old convent still remains.”

The Cardews are great friends of ours,” said Sir Everard.

“If you come here to live you will be meeting them.”

That will be very interesting. ” Stirling gave me a look which was almost a grimace and I said quickly: ” We are very intrigued by the Mercer’s House and are wondering how it came to have such a name. “

“My great-great-grandfather built it,” explained Mr. Wakefield.

“He was a mercer of London where he made enough money to retire to the country and build himself a house. This he did. But he never forgot his trade so he called his house the Mercer’s House.”

The family prospered,” Sir Everard carried on the story, ‘and my father built this house which was better suited to his needs and Mercer’s was occupied by aunts and cousins and any member of the family who needed it … until two years ago. A sister of mine occupied it; and since she died it has been empty. It was my son’s idea that we should let it and you will be the first outside the family to live in it.”

That’s very interesting,” I said.

“I am sure we are going to enjoy it.”

Stirling said to me: “I fancy it was this Whiteladies that we visited briefly when we were here last. We have recently arrived from Australia,” he explained to the company.

“I had a brother who went there,” began Sir Everard. I could see he was a garrulous old gentleman, for his wife, smiling indulgently at him, said quickly: “So you were at Whiteladies … briefly?”

I explained the incident of the scarf and Mr. Wakefield looked delighted. I remember the occasion,” he said.

“What an excellent memory you must have!” I told him. There was a lady in a chair . “

“Lady Cardew. She has since died. There is now another Lady Cardew.”

“And a very pretty young girl.”

“That would be Minta,” said Lady Wakefield.

“Such a dear girl!” Her indulgent smile was turned on her son. Oh yes, I thought, there will be a match between Minta and Mr. Wakefield.

“She has a little half-sister now—Druscilla—daughter of the second Lady Cardew.”

“And Minta, is she married?”

Again that roguish look for Mr. Wakefield.

“Not yet.”

The doctor, who had said very little, took out his watch and looked at it.

“I should be on my way,” he said.

“So many people needing your services,” commented Lady Wakefield.

“You will be going back to the Falcon Inn, I daresay,” said the doctor to us.

“Could I give you a lift?”

“It’s an excellent idea,” said Mr. Wakefield.

“But if you are not going that way. Doctor, I will arrange …”

The doctor said that he was in fact going that way, so we thanked the Wakefields and I assured them that we would be ready to move into the Mercer’s House the following week when all that was necessary to be settled would have been completed.

That would be admirable, said Mr. Wakefield; and soon we were rolling along in the doctor’s brougham.

“Charming people,” he said of the Wakefields.

“I hope our neighbours at this Whiteladies are as charming,” murmured Stirling.

I noticed then a tightening of the doctor’s lips and I wondered what that meant. He seemed to realize that I was studying him and said quickly: “I daresay you will be able to judge for yourself in due course.”

He dropped us at the inn and when he had gone I said to Stirling: “He was a bit odd about the people at Whiteladies. Did you notice his face when I mentioned them?”

But Stirling had noticed nothing.

I felt better than I had since the death of Lynx. I was interested in life again. I disapproved of this crazy scheme to rob its owners of Whiteladies—and indeed the more I thought of it the more crazy it seemed—but at the same time I was fascinated by these people and it was almost as though, as Jessica had said. Lynx had come back and was urging me to act against my will.

I was eager to live in the Mercer’s House. I liked the Wakefield family. I had heard from the innkeeper who was a gossip that Sir Everard and Lady Wakefield had despaired of having children and that they were well into middle age when their son was born. They doted on him; and he would say this for Mr. Franklyn, he was a good son if ever there was one, and it wouldn’t be many more months he was sure before there was a match between the Park and Whiteladies.

“That would be Miss Minta,” I said.

“You’d be right there. A sweet young lady, and highly thought of hereabouts.”

Then Mr. Franklyn will be lucky. “

They’ll be a lucky pair. “

“And Whiteladies? I suppose that will one day be Miss Minta’s—but she’ll be at Wakefield Park.”

“Don’t you believe it. She’ll be at Whiteladies. It’ll go to her—the eldest—and who’d have thought there’d be another. Sir Hilary at his time of life too! But a new young wife, you know how it is.”