We both agreed that it was a perfect vintage, which pleased her; and it was just as we were about to leave that she said: “And what do you think of our ghost? If you was to ask me I’d say it was a lot of fancy.” She put her hands on her substantial hips and added: “I was never much of a one for ghosts myself.”

“Ghosts?” I asked. “We haven’t heard anything about ghosts.”

“Well, it’s that young man… the one that drowned, you know. He was shot at and that was the end of him. Someone said he’d been seen on the shore like… coming out of the sea.”

“But he’s dead and buried.”

“I know. But this was his ghost, you know, sir. Ghosts don’t take heed of coffins. And the other one was with him.”

“What other one?” I asked.

“Oh, that young man he was friendly with. Him as was working up at the big house. What was his name?”

“Billy Grafter?” I said.

“Yes, that’s him. He was drowned when the boat was upset. Well, he’s been seen… according to some. Or his ghost has.”

“He’s been seen… here?” I asked faintly.

“Why, you look all shook up, Mrs. Frenshaw. There’s nothing to be afraid of in ghosts.”

“Who saw this?” I asked.

“Oh, it was one or two of them. Patty Grey’s girl, Ada, said she was down on the beach with her brother collecting wood that had been thrown up by the tide… and she said he was there. He appeared… and then he was gone.”

“It was inevitable that someone should start imagining these things,” said David. “It made quite a stir at the time.”

We put down our glasses.

“That was enjoyable, Mrs. Penn,” went on David. “I am sure you are right about the tang.”

She ushered us out.

“Very good farmers, the Penns,” said David, as we rode away. “Everything in order. I wish there were more like them.”

But I could only think: Someone has seen Billy Grafter. Was it imagination or does that mean that he is here… in the neighbourhood?

We were rather worried about Aunt Sophie for she was not very well. My mother said one of us should call every day.

“She hasn’t been the same since Alberic died,” Jeanne told us. “And now there is all this talk about ghosts, she fancies Alberic can come back and talk to her… tell her who his murderer was…”

“Is there a lot of talk about ghosts?”

“Among the servants, yes. Two of them have said they have actually seen Alberic’s friend who was drowned with him, and now she has the idea that Alberic is trying to reach her. She talks about it all the time. Dolly Mather is there with her a good deal. Poor Dolly, she doesn’t have much of a life. Mrs. Trent has changed so much since that suicide. You know how she always wanted to be included in everything… now she hardly ever goes out. Dolly is here a lot. I think she must find it a relief to get away from Grasslands. And Mademoiselle likes to have her. They talk constantly of Alberic.”

“I heard the rumour that Billy Grafter had been seen,” I said.

“Yes. He’s supposed to look as though he has walked out of the sea… dripping water and ghastly white.”

“It’s a lot of nonsense.”

“She takes comfort in thinking that Alberic could come back.”

“Was she really so fond of him when he was here?”

Jeanne looked at me shrewdly. “She took an interest in him. She liked to have him around. You know he was very useful. There weren’t many she would have trusted to go up to London and do little commissions for her. She let him ride the horses. I think it was his being of our own nationality and being upset by everything that was happening in France… It was a common tragedy.”

“And the fact that he is dead would endear him to her.”

Jeanne said nothing and I went on: “Oh, you know as well as I do that Aunt Sophie revels in misfortune. If only she would try to see the bright things of life. She shuts herself away… lives like a recluse…”

“That is Mademoiselle d’Aubigné,” said Jeanne soberly. “And we must accept this and do all we can to make life tolerable for her.”

“You are right, Jeanne, as always. Does she really want us to visit her?”

“Oh, yes, she looks forward to seeing you. She likes to rest and meditate in the early afternoon but as you come at three and go at five… that’s as she likes it. She was always one for regularity. She likes life to go to a pattern.”

“Well, I shall come every afternoon as long as she wants me, and if I don’t, I expect my mother will.”

“Oh, I think she would rather it was you. She still broods on the past and often talks about your father. She was very much in love with him, you know, and I think she has never quite forgiven your mother for marrying him. And she thinks of you as the daughter she has never had.”

“Then I’ll come.”

And I did. Each afternoon I rode over and I made sure that I left precisely at five.

Aunt Sophie talked often of Alberic.

She did believe that people sometimes—as she said—“came back” and “got into touch” with those of whom they had been very fond; and if they had died a violent death they sometimes came back to haunt their murderers.

Dolly Mather was usually with her when I arrived and sometimes she stayed awhile. I think she offered a great deal of comfort to Sophie, who would see them as kindred spirits, both maimed in a way, both treated unfairly by fate, both having suffered the loss of a loved one.

They talked of Alberic and of Evie, and Sophie constantly said that she believed one day they would “come through” to her.

“And when they do,” she said, “Alberic will tell me the name of his murderer, and then I shall do my best to see that the wicked ones… for perhaps it was more than one… are brought to justice.”

I wondered what she would say if I told her that Alberic had been a spy, that it was men such as he who had helped to bring about the revolution which had resulted in so much misery for her own country.

She would never have believed me.

It was always dark when I left Enderby. The candles in Sophie’s room had to be lighted at four o’clock at this time of the year. I always thought the room took on a special quality in candlelight. It had always been a room of haunting memories for me; and on these occasions when Jeanne called up through the speaking tube—as she did now and then—my heart used to race uncomfortably for I reminded myself that someone knew I had been here with Jonathan… I had been lulled into a sense of security about that because no one had ever hinted to me that he… or she… was in the secret. There was only that muffled voice coming over the tube, not recognizable as any one of my acquaintances. Even Jeanne’s voice with its distinctive accent sounded different through the tube.

Aunt Sophie was in one of her brooding moods.

She said that Dolly had been with her in the early part of the afternoon and she had felt very close to Alberic, and Dolly to her sister Evie.

“They’ll break through one of these days,” said Aunt Sophie. “I am so sorry for Dolly. She cared so much for her sister, and that grandmother of hers is very strange. She comes to me, poor child, and tells me her troubles.”

I said that it was comforting for them to be able to talk together.

“Life is unfair to some of us, and to others… everything comes. Take your mother, for instance.”

Poor Aunt Sophie! She was obsessed by my mother’s good fortune throughout life and compared it frequently with her own ill luck.

I was always rather relieved to get away.

As I came down to the hall, Jeanne appeared.

“I am glad I caught you,” she said. “I wanted you to look at some materials I have. They are really rather lovely. Mademoiselle does love a pretty gown and I want to keep her interested in them. It’s a great help to her.”

“I’d like to see them,” I told her.

“I’ve got them down here. I won’t keep you long. I know you like to get away sharp.”

“Oh, I’ve plenty of time.”

The materials were pale pink and Aunt Sophie’s favourite lilac; and there were a deeper purple and red.

I said I thought the paler colours suited Aunt Sophie better than the deep ones.

“I fully agree,” she said. “And this softer material lends itself better to the hoods. I want you to see some ribbons.”

I duly admired these and it must have been about fifteen minutes later when I left Jeanne.

I mounted my horse and started for home. I always took the same route, which meant going through a short bridle path where thick bushes grew on either side. This path was rarely used and as it was straight and narrow I always cantered through it.

Suddenly my horse drew up sharply and I almost fell out of the saddle.

“What is it, Queenie?” I asked.

I peered into the darkness. At first I could see nothing, but the mare refused to move.

I dismounted. The bushes were tall and the path shaded; there was no moon and thick clouds obscured the stars.

Then I saw that a man was lying across the path.

I stared. Someone had tied a thin rope across the path about a foot from the ground. It had been attached to the bushes and had obviously been put there as a trap.

I was dumbfounded. I heard a movement and then I saw the horse which was standing nearby.

It was clear what had happened. The unsuspecting horse had tripped over the rope and thrown the rider.

What a wicked thing to do! I went to the man lying there. His eyes were shut but he was still breathing.

I must get help at once, and in the quickest possible way.

My heart leaped with horror, for the man lying on the ground was Billy Grafter.

I stood looking down at him for what seemed a long time, but it could only have been a matter of seconds.