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119God,' He put his hand to the side of his head now and pressed it as if thrusting his thoughts away.This has got to be worked out. It's too late now to renege. Go on; do as I say."It was, for the moment, as if Douglas were the elder and directing the affairs of the house, for he actually put his hand on his brother's back and pressed him towards the open doors again. But here, Lionel drew in a long breath, squared his shoulders, shrugged off his brother's hand, and walked into the ballroom, leaving Douglas standing now and looking towards the palm lying at such an angle as if it, too, had imbibed over-much on this evening of celebration.He walked slowly back to where Bridget was standing at the end of the bench, her back against the wall. She appeared to him to be very tall at this moment; and her face looked tight and drawn, the large eyes that had only a short while ago been wet with laughter were now gleaming black and hard through the dimness. He put his hand out to guide her around the palm leaves that were sprawled across the bench, but she refused

120the gesture, and pressed past him, saying, 'Is this true? He thought she was wealthy?'He could not look at her; he actually turned from her and, unseeing, gazed down the length of the conservatory before he said, 'I'm afraid so.''But she told him. She told me that she had made it plain to him.''If that is so, I can't understand it,' he said. 'I recall once her laughingly saying that she was just a poor girl, but rich in so many ways, which, to me, suggested . . . Lionel's love for her.''What will he do?''I can't say, because I don't know. I can only say, and truthfully, he hasn't got a penny of his own. He depends upon my father; as I did until I started earning a little at my own trade, which I've told you about. But I don't think I have any need to point out to you that my father and the estate are in a very bad way.''And Victoria was going to be the saving of it. Is that it?'He looked away again. 'Yes. Yes, that's it. But'-his head jerked round-'I'm sure, as I was when I answered your questions, that 121besides the matter of the money, Lionel is very fond of Victoria. Very.'She thrust past him to go and stand looking through the open door at the dancing still in progress. And what she said now was, 'I suspected something right from the beginning. The whole thing was too unreal, too like a fairy-tale, too rushed. But I know one thing for sure, this will kill her.''Oh-' And Douglas's intervention on behalf of his brother had something of a note of disbelief in it as he went on, 'People don't die these days from unrequited love; the swooning lady's day is over,' but then actually stepped back from the quiet but determined onslaught of her voice as she turned on him, saying, 'What do you know about it? People do die from unrequited love. Not straightaway, no; they just shrivel until there's nothing left of them. And that's what will happen to her. She not only loves that man, she's besotted with him, she adores him and, strangely, she holds him high in honour because she imagined that he was taking in marriage a penniless girl just because he loved her.'There was silence between them and in it 122the laughter from those seated around the ballroom shrieked in their ears. Some of it was raucous, the result of some ribaldry or other; some was mere tittering, expressing refined shock. But neither of them moved until the music stopped, when, as if emerging from a deep conclave with herself, she turned to him, saying, still quietly but nevertheless forthrightly, 'Don't do anything. I mean, find him and tell him not to do anything until tomorrow. I'll come over in the morning. I shall be here at half-past nine prompt, and I shall want to see him and his father.'She went to move away, but his voice saying, 'Bridget!' halted her, and when she looked at him over her shoulder, he said, 'I'm sorry, very sorry.'She said nothing further, but went on into the ballroom and made her way to where a radiant Victoria was standing fanning herself as she listened to the solicitor's profuse apologies about his dancing.Addressing the man by his Christian name, as her father had always done, Bridget said, 'Andrew, I want to call on you tomorrow afternoon. Three o'clock?'

123'Oh, Miss Bridget, you really are the most . . . you really are. Here I am in the middle of apologizing for my feet's atrocious efforts and you are making an appointment . . .''Andrew. I am very tired, and Victoria is, too. We are going home now.' She paused and, turning to Victoria, she said, pointedly, 'Say goodbye to ... Lionel.' She had to make an effort to voice the name.'But it is just on the last . . .''Please!

Victoria. As I said, I am very tired. It is near two o'clock in the morning and I have a busy day ahead of me tomorrow . . . Please.''Yes. Well. Yes, Bridget.'As Bridget threaded her way through the dispersing dancers, both Victoria and Mr Andrew Kemp looked after her and Victoria said, 'I've never heard her say she's tired before and she's hardly danced at all. And she looked ... Oh dear.'Mr Kemp said nothing but he thought, No, neither have I heard her admit to being tired. And she wants to see me tomorrow at three o'clock. Now what's in the wind? She never does anything without a purpose, does Miss Bridget.

She should, to my mind, have

124been a man. Well, her father nearly made her into one, business-wise anyway.'Come, my dear.' He held out his arm. 'Let me take you and leave you in the protection of your future husband. I cannot see him here, but we must find him, eh?' Then he added, 'Happy?''Oh, yes, Mr Kemp, so very happy. So very, very happy. It's been a wonderful ball.'And it could have gone on; but Bridget had to bring it to an end . . . Why? And she looked so ... Dear, dear! She could be very awkward at times.

The morning was bright, and from the ridges of a sloping field away to the right of her the sun was drawing up fresh green sprigs. To the left, towering above the high stone wall, the trees were all weighed down with newborn leaves still dripping moisture from the early morning shower.Hamlet, too, was evidently feeling the pull of Spring because he had the urge to canter, not to walk or trot as he had been bidden to do.Bridget, deep in thought, was now walking him, for she was nearing the gate of Grove House through which she had only a few hours earlier been driven with a puzzled Victoria by her side, whose thoughts had alternated between the wonders of the evening past and concern for her cousin's changed

126manner: What was the matter? Had someone said something to her? Having spent most of the evening with Douglas, had he annoyed her? Lionel had said Douglas was a very odd fellow, not caring for company, and when he wasn't chipping away at bits of wood or stone he was tramping the hills.Bridget had forced herself to answer: No, there was nothing wrong, but she was feeling a little unwell, and she was tired.And now this morning she had reason to be tired for she had hardly slept. It would have been quite three o'clock before they had gone to bed, and from then her mind had been working and planning the best course to take to assure Victoria's future happiness; she knew, and without a doubt, that as things stood Lionel Filmore would never marry her, and there crept into her mind the thought that perhaps Victoria had withheld the knowledge of her true situation from him. She had already questioned her about this and each time had been given the same answer: 'I've told him I'm a poor girl.'But how had she said that? That was the question. Had she put it over as a joke? Rich people did make a joke of being poor; some

127even acted as if they were. What about herself? She certainly didn't dress or act the part of a wealthy young woman. And so, thinking along those lines, she felt she was as much to blame as Victoria for the situation that had come about. Going back to the way she dressed: being judged by that, she must have appeared as the working partner.She wished fervently now that she had done what she was tempted to do when her father died, sold Milton Place and lived permanently in Meadow House, their original home in South Shields: this was the house she had always thought of as home. But, as her father had maintained, Milton Place wasn't a kick in the backside from all that was going on in the business world, particularly in their form of small businesses tucked away under the skirts of the big fellas, the steelworks, the shipyards, the mines, all the grinding businesses that brought men to early death. Theirs, he had laughingly stated, was like a group of little hobbies. But very paying little hobbies, as his father and grandfather before him had made evident in their wills.She recalled his pet story with regard to 128the accumulation of pennies. It concerned a man who had done a great service for the king and the king apparently wanted to bestow gold and jewels on him by way of his thanks. But the seemingly humble man had said, 'No, sire. All I would ask of you is to give me a penny and thenceforward each day double the accumulated worth.' A penny! And the king had laughed. This humble man was only asking for a penny and to double its worth each day. But the king laughed no more when within a comparatively short time the man who had asked for a penny to begin with bought his kingdom, leaving him bereft of all he owned.It was a tall tale, but in 1825 John and Arthur Mordaunt had made their first little batch of blacking, mainly out of soot and fat, and it wasn't a very good or lasting product; but they learnt as they went along. And for them, this start was the equivalent of their penny. It was odd, too, that each of the brothers had two sons, and so this line had followed down to her father and his brother Sep.

However, Septimus apparently was the only one of the Mordaunt men who wanted nothing to do with blacking, polishes, or

129candles; such business was lowly. So he had taken his share, married a beautiful but mindless young girl, whisked her abroad, I and there he had gambled in different ways. (However, it hadn't been the tables that ruined him but the lure of the goldmines. And, like the prodigal son, he had returned broken in body and also in mind to the house where he had been born, and he and his child had been welcomed with open arms.It was strange, Bridget thought, if this business of the engagement had taken place in their old home there would have been no mistaking the identity between them, because the story of the two brothers was cornmon knowledge in Shields. It was fresh, not only in the minds of the old, but in those of middle age, and they would have put any stranger straight as to who was the head of the Mordaunt business. And they would have added in their forthright ways, 'She's only got eight fingers but she's got them stuck in all kinds of pies, and she keeps her thumbs bare for testing new ones.'There was no one about to take her horse, so she tied it to a post, then walked to the 130front of the house. She had no need to ring the bell because the double doors were open and she stood looking in to where there was a scurry of activity. Two men were emerging from the long panelled corridor carrying what looked like a china cabinet. The carpets were down on the floor and a maid was arranging chairs, while another's business seemed to be the placing of ornaments here and there. No one seemed to take any notice of her until a man went to pass her. He was carrying a large potted plant which he pressed away from his face as he glimpsed her, then said, 'Oh! Mornin', miss.' Then turning, he called into the hall, 'Mr Bright! There's a young lady here.'The butler appeared from the region of the drawing-room. He was different from the man who last night had announced her and Victoria. Then he had been attired in bright blue livery, as had the other manservants, lending colour to the brilliantly lit rooms! Now the dull grey of his noticeably shabby uniform seemed reflected in his face, and he looked tired. She noticed this, but did not comment on it. What she said to him, was, I am expected.'

131Although he was surprised that she should be visiting at this early hour of twenty-five minutes past nine in the morning, especially so after having left the house only a few hours earlier, he did not, of course, show it but said, 'Oh yes, miss. Come this way. Perhaps you will be good enough to wait in the little sitting-room.' The faintest of smiles touched his lips as he added, 'It is the only room presentable in the house as yet.'They were passing the foot of the stairs when he exclaimed, 'Oh, here is Master Douglas.'Bridget looked up towards where Douglas was now descending the broad staircase. He was wearing a plain dark suit and was busy buttoning the coat down from the neck as he approached her, saying simply, 'Good morning.''Good morning.'Douglas turned as though about to lead the way down the corridor, but hesitated and said to Bright, 'Bring in a pot of coffee for four.' This time he placed his hand on Bridget's elbow and steered her along the corridor that was lined, not only with wood, 132but with enormous oil paintings, which last night had been shown to advantage under the soft glow of hanging oil lamps, but which now seemed to merge into the panelling, only their gilded frames being prominent.At the end of the corridor another one led off at right angles, and in comparison this one looked denuded for the panelling was bare. Halfway along it, he drew her to a stop, leant forward, pushed a door open and stood aside to allow her to enter. Inside was definitely a sitting-room, and it was bright with sunshine that warmed the chintz covered couch and numerous chairs and lit up one wall of the Chinese patterned wallpaper in such a way that you could believe the figures on it were moving.Bridget took in the- whole room in one roving glance. It was an elegant room, at least the decor was such. Yet, she would have also called it homely, and this impression was furthered by the fact that the chintz covers had definitely seen a lot of wear.'Do sit down.''Thank you, no; I'd rather stand.' She looked at her watch.

'It's turned half-past nine,' she said, and the sound such a remark I133*elicited from him wasn't quite a laugh; but his thin body beneath his coat shook for a moment as he looked downwards while shaking his head slowly from side to side. 'Do you know, we didn't get to bed until nearly four o'clock/ he said, emphasizing the earliness rather than the lateness of the hour. 'My father had drunk a great deal but the news that Lionel had to break to him, and not gently, sobered him quite a bit. And I'm sure, like myself, neither of them went to sleep for some while after getting to bed. And now, Miss Bridget, you say it has turned half-past nine. You know'-he was nodding at her now-'I can remember as a boy, when these occasions of dinners and balls were frequent in this house and my father was much younger than he is today and in much better health, even then, he never rose before the evening after. But now, you have commanded him to be here at half-past nine in the morning. Don't you think you are being a little severe?'She did not immediately answer, but stared at him; then she said, 'And don't you think, too ... or should I say, have you asked yourself why I wish to see them at all?