David was jubilant, and almost at once the atmosphere in the house lightened. The gloom lifted and for a while I too felt quite joyous. The change in my mother was amazing and Dickon was so delighted that it appeared that what he wanted more than anything at this time was our marriage.

My mother threw herself into preparations with an almost feverish energy. When should the wedding be? There should not be too long a wait. Summer was the time for a wedding. Of course the summer would soon be over. This was August. There must be some time for preparation. What about the end of September? Or the beginning of October? It was finally decided that it must be October to give us the time we needed for preparation.

It had been late February when the young men had left for France. Somehow it seemed like years.

As the days began to pass I was telling myself twenty times a day that I had done the right thing. I was very happy. David and I had everything in common and we would be happy all our lives in the heart of the family.

“It is true,” I would say to myself. But why should I have to tell myself so insistently?

I was happy, however, to see my mother so absorbed. She was almost her old self wondering whether Molly Blackett was capable of making the wedding dress or whether she should risk hurting her by engaging a court dressmaker. While she concerned herself with such a matter at least she was not brooding about what might have happened to Charlot.

At length she decided that fashion must be sacrificed to human kindness and Molly set to work with yards and yards of pure white chiffon and delicate lace. And there was I standing, while she knelt at my feet, with the pincushion beside her, and my thoughts went back to another occasion when Jonathan had burst in on us and lured Molly away on a false pretext while he held me in his arms.

The dress turned out to be quite a triumph, and the joy of Molly Blackett’s life. It hung in my bedroom cupboard for a whole week before the wedding, and every night, before I got into bed, I would look at it, and very often I thought it was like a ghost standing there—not a ghost from the past, but the ghost of what was to come. Once I dreamed that I was wearing it and Jonathan came and slipped the bodice from my shoulders and kissed me.

I supposed that every girl felt a little apprehensive before her wedding. I often pondered on those marriages which were arranged in highborn families. How did the bride feel going to an unknown bridegroom? At least I knew David for a kindly, interesting person, someone who really loved me, and, I said almost defiantly to the ghost in the cupboard, “whom I love.”

During the days I was less fearful. Riding with David about the estate I felt contented. This was what our life would be. I should grow into it graciously. I should help him when he had little worries about something on the estate; we should take trips to London. Indeed we had planned to do so on our honeymoon. I often thought of the one we had planned in Italy, visiting Herculaneum or Pompeii—but that would not be easy now that we were at war with France. I often wondered what would happen to an Englishman found in France at this time. Dickon said that the country was in such a turmoil that they would pay little attention to foreigners; they were too intent on killing each other. But I feared for Charlot and Louis Charles as well as Jonathan.

We decided we would go to London… just for a week, say. We would sail up the river as far as Hampton; we would go to the theatre; and we would stay in the family house, which would be like home in a way.

I could not help thinking of Venice and Italian love songs as the gondoliers swept their way over darkened waters.

One day we came home past Grasslands, which belonged to Mrs. Trent, and as we were passing she came out and called to us.

I had never really liked her. There was a certain slyness about her. When I had visited Eversleigh the very first time—and I was quite young then—I had thought she was a witch and had been rather afraid of her.

Why I should have felt so I was not quite sure, for she must have been rather pretty when she was young; but there was a certain wariness about her which put me on my guard.

She called a greeting and said: “So it is our young bride and groom. Come and drink a glass of sloe gin… or if you would prefer it, the elderberry wine was very good this year.”

I wanted to refuse, but David was already thanking her and accepting the invitation. I guessed he did not want to go any more than I did, but he was too kindhearted to refuse.

Grasslands was a very small estate compared with Eversleigh. There were only two farms, but I had heard it said that Mrs. Trent had a very good manager.

We went into a hall—a lofty place with some magnificent oak beams—but small compared with ours at Eversleigh, and she led us into a parlour and called out for the serving girl to bring the elderberry wine and sloe gin.

Mrs. Trent was beaming her satisfaction. I knew that she did not have many visitors. I gathered that for some reason she had never been accepted in the neighbourhood. There was some scandal about her. Her mother had been housekeeper to my distant relative Carl Eversleigh—in fact she had been his mistress and the story was that she had robbed him right and left. There was some scandal, which was discovered by my grandmother Zipporah, and the lady had disappeared, but not before her daughter had gone to work for Andrew Mather at Grasslands, and so insinuated herself into his life that he had married her, and when he died shortly afterwards leaving her with a baby son, she had become the owner of Grasslands.

Rumour had branded her an adventuress, and soon after the death of her first husband she married Jack Trent, her manager—who was said to have been her lover—and had lived in outward respectability ever since, but such a past was not easily forgotten.

“Everyone is most excited about the wedding,” she said. “I reckon your mama is really pleased—and your step-papa too. It’s always nice when things turn out the way people want, don’t you think?”

David said we were also delighted about the coming marriage.

“Well, if you weren’t that would be a nice kettle of fish, wouldn’t it? I expect Mr. Jonathan’s nose will be put out of joint when he comes home and finds his brother has stolen a march on him.”

I felt myself flushing. Yes, that was what I remembered about Mrs. Trent. She seemed to be aware of one’s weaknesses and to find a pleasure in letting one know it—and to set one wondering how much she really knew. It was that witchlike quality.

The wine had arrived and she poured it out.

“Good ones this year—both sloe and elder,” she commented. “There now. Let’s drink to the wedding.”

We did. Then she went on: “And to the safe return of Mr. Jonathan.”

Her eyes glittered as she looked straight at me. I could almost feel her probing my mind.

She said: “I like things to happen. That’s one thing about the country… it can be a bit quiet. I started my life in London, you know. What a difference! Then my mother came to Eversleigh and it was the country life for me and has been ever since. There’s some that say I’ve been lucky, and in spite of everything I’d say I’ve much to be thankful for.”

Her bright eyes seemed to be looking back into the past and she was smirking at memories.

“I saw your step-papa out riding the other day. What a fine gentleman!” There was a special glitter in her eyes now, as though she knew something about Dickon which she would dearly love to tell.

I wondered whether I was imagining that certain slyness, this harbouring of secret knowledge, because in my childhood I had thought of her as the witch.

When she spoke of Jonathan and Dickon there was a note in her voice which seemed to suggest that she knew them very well indeed and was greatly amused by them.

I had a great desire to get away; she was depressing me. I wondered if she had the same effect on David. I caught his eye and tried to indicate that we should finish the wine and get out. There was something claustrophobic about Grasslands.

Mrs. Trent cocked her head as though listening. Then she called out: “I can see you… peeping in. Come and meet the happy pair.”

The two girls came in. They were dressed in riding habits. Evie looked very pretty, which made the contrast with her sister very noticeable.

“You know my Evie and Dolly,” said Mrs. Trent. She looked at Evie with pride, and I immediately felt sorry for Dolly, who hung back a little, for I guessed she was very much aware of her deformity.

The girls dropped a curtsy, and Mrs. Trent went on: “They think it’s lovely… you, Miss Claudine, and Mr. David, don’t you, girls?”

They nodded.

“Where’s your tongues?” demanded Mrs. Trent. “Haven’t you got something to say?”

“Congratulations, Miss de Tourville and Mr. Frenshaw,” said Evie.

“Thanks,” we replied simultaneously and David went on: “I saw you riding the other day. I must say you manage your horses well.”

“Oh yes,” said Mrs. Trent, “I’ve had them brought up in the right way, both of them. I was determined my girls should be as good as anyone else.”

“I’m sure you succeeded, Mrs. Trent,” I said. “I do agree about the wine being especially good this year. Thanks for letting us try it, and now I think we really ought to be going, don’t you, David?”

“I’m afraid so,” he said. “There is so much to do round the estate.”

“Don’t I know it,” said Mrs. Trent. “In my own little way, of course. Grasslands is no Eversleigh, but my goodness there’s enough to keep us busy. It was very gracious of you to call. We do appreciate that, don’t we, girls?”