“It was quite implausible and we should never have got away with it if war had not been declared just at that time, and if people had not had other things to think about than the wayward wanton conduct of a frivolous young woman.”

“You are right, dear sister, as always. You see why I can’t live without you? Even Tregarland’s is tolerable because you will be my neighbor when you marry your Jowan. Your name Jermyn, mine Tregarland. It worked out quite neatly in the end, didn’t it?”

“We can’t know that yet.”

“You are determined to be morbid. Surely one of your maxims tells you that is not very helpful.”

“I just want to face facts.”

“I know. But sometimes I feel the past will never go away. It’s here in this house. Matilda Lewyth with her madness. She seems to be still here. And there is Gordon. How does he feel? His own mother a murderess … living out her life in an asylum …”

“Gordon is one of the most sensible men I know. He will see everything clearly as it really is. His mother wanted Tregarland’s for him and she allowed that desire to become an obsession. Old James Tregarland teased her. He was mischievous. He wanted to see how she would act. Well, he saw, and he wishes now that it was something he had never seen. He blames himself in a way—and he certainly did play a part in the drama. But it is over. Thank God Matilda was prevented from harming Tristan. Matilda is now in safe care and Tristan has Nanny Crabtree and the whole household to dote on him. Even old Mr. Tregarland thinks his grandson is the most wonderful child that ever was. Tristan is safe. We have to go on from there.”

“But I can’t rid myself of guilt. I should have been there. Dermot should be alive.”

“Dermot was badly injured. He knew he would never recover. So he took his life. It’s all in the past.”

“What do people think about me? They must suspect.”

“They don’t think much about you. They are concerned with more important matters. What is happening on the Continent, for instance. Where will Hitler turn next? We are at war. The actions of Mrs. Dermot Tregarland with a French artist are trivial compared with the affairs of Europe. They are prepared to accept your story of loss of memory, implausible as it is, because they are not really greatly concerned.”

“You are right,” she said. “You are always right. And, best of all, you are here. You are going to marry Jowan Jermyn and the star-crossed lover of a hundred years ago can rest in peace. My dear sister Violetta came to Tregarland and set it all right.”

We laughed and sat in silence for a while. I drew comfort from her and I know she did from me. It is wonderful to have another human being who is so close to you as to be almost a part of yourself. It had been so from the beginning of our lives and would remain so.

She knew what I was thinking, as she often did. There had been few periods in our lives when we had been apart—the longest being when she had eloped with the French artist and had staged an “accident” to cover up the truth.

I was convinced that she would never do anything so foolish again. I think it had taught her that she should never allow us to be parted again.

“Let’s go in to breakfast,” she said at length.

Breakfast at Tregarland’s extended over two hours so that we could take it according to our plans for the day. James Tregarland rarely appeared for meals nowadays. He had been greatly shaken by the death of his son and what had happened to his mistress-housekeeper. He was well aware that he shared some blame for that bizarre affair. It had affected us all, though it appeared to have the least effect on Matilda’s son, Gordon. He was practical in the extreme and on him depended the prosperity of the Tregarland estate. He carried on as though little had changed. I had always known he was a remarkable man.

However, we rarely saw him at breakfast, and on that morning Dorabella and I were alone.

The post was brought in by one of the maids. There were letters from my mother—one for each of us. She always wrote to us both, even though the contents were similar.

We opened them and I read:

My dearest Violetta,

Life is uncertain here and I am a little anxious about Gretchen. It is a miserable time for her. She is so anxious for her family in Germany. Goodness knows what is happening to them, and with Edward going overseas soon … Well, imagine, he will be fighting her fellow countrymen. Poor Gretchen, she is most unsettled and unhappy. You can imagine how it is with her. Of course, she has little Hildegarde. I am so pleased about that. The child is such a comfort to her.

She has been staying with us. It is not easy being in a country which is at war with her own.

I was wondering whether you would ask her down to Cornwall for a spell. I am writing of this to Dorabella, as it will be for her to give the invitation. Gretchen was always so fond of you two, and it would be good for her to be with people of her own age. Of course, it is difficult traveling in these days of black-outs and all that—especially with children—but if you could have her and little Hildegarde for a while, I am sure that would cheer her up.

Hildegarde would be company for Tristan, of course, and I am sure Nanny Crabtree would be delighted to cope.

Poor Gretchen! People know she is German. Her accent, of course, and with Edward away … well, you can see how difficult it is.

Talk it over with Dorabella. I do hope you will have her.

I was sorry, and so was your father, that we could not be there for the engagement party. We are so happy about it. Both of us are so fond of Jowan. Your father thinks he is an excellent manager and we both know that you and he will be very happy together. It will be so nice for you to be near Dorabella.

With lots of love from Daddy and me,

Mummy

Dorabella looked up from her letter.

“Gretchen,” she said.

I nodded.

“Of course she must come,” she said.

“Of course,” I echoed.

Gretchen arrived about two weeks later. Dorabella drove to the station to meet her and I went with her.

I could see that Gretchen was a little distraught. She was as anxious for Edward as I was for Jowan, and neither of us could get any news of what was happening on the Front. Moreover, she had the additional anxiety of her family in Bavaria, of whom she had heard nothing for a very long time.

Little Hildegarde was an enchanting child. Tristan would be three years old in November and Hildegarde was about five months younger. She was an only child, dark like her mother and with none of Edward’s fairness.

Nanny Crabtree pounced on her with glee, and, as for Tristan, he was obviously glad to have her company.

Nanny Crabtree was at this time in a state of mild rebellion because of what she referred to as “them imps upstairs.”

Because it was feared that the enemy would attack from the air, children throughout the country had been evacuated from the big towns and billeted in country houses. Two of these children had been assigned to us, and they were Nanny Crabtree’s “imps.”

Above the nursery were the attics, some of which were occupied by servants. They were large rambling rooms, oddly shaped with sloping roofs. Two of these were used as bedrooms for the young evacuees, who were two brothers from London’s East End, Charley and Bert Trimmell, aged eleven and eight. Nanny Crabtree kept an eye on them, supervising their meals, making sure that they washed regularly and went to school in East Poldown with the others who had been billeted in the Poldowns or the surrounding neighborhood. As the school in Poldown was not big enough to accommodate all the children, some rooms in the town hall had been given over to the schoolmasters and -mistresses who had accompanied their pupils; and all the newcomers could go to school with their friends.

We were sorry for these children, who looked very forlorn when they arrived with labels bearing their names and gas masks over their shoulders.

Gordon had gone down to the town hall where they were all assembled and came back with the Trimmells.

Nanny Crabtree’s rebellion was only on the surface. Where children were concerned, she would be the first to care for them; but she always disliked change, so it was only a natural reaction.

“Poor little mites,” she said of the evacuees. “It’s no picnic for them being taken away from their homes. Still, they’ve got to learn the way we do things here and the sooner the better. I could murder that Hitler.”

When Charley came home with bruises on his face and a torn jacket, she was most displeased—particularly when he stubbornly refused to tell her how he had come to be in such a state.

“We don’t have that sort of goings-on down here, you know. You have to behave. You’re not in the back streets now.”

Charley remained silent, giving her that look of veiled contempt which she had seen before and was the easiest way to irritate Nanny Crabtree because she could not complain of insolence when the boy had said nothing.

She told me about it afterwards.

“‘Charley Trimmell,’ I said, ‘you’ll have to learn, that’s what you’ll have to do.’ And there he stood, defying me … without raying a word.”

“It must be dreadful for those children,” I said. “Just imagine, being taken away from your home and family and sent to strangers.”

Nanny nodded. “Poor mites, but they’ve got to learn life’s not all beer and skittles.”

I think she was rather contrite when she heard the way in which Charley had acquired his scars.