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off-hand with the workers, thinking he was above having to deal with them directly; perhaps (I calculated for myself) because he understood that they were very suspicious of him, for having appeared from nowhere and displaying so little acumen for business.
    It struck me that my father’s brow was more deeply rivelled than it used to be. I could appreciate better now that he had only meant to be open and above board by owning to Arthur as his blood son. He believed he had finally done the right thing: while circumstances seemed intent, rather, on loosening and undermining the soft ground beneath his feet.
    *   *   *
    Arthur, I thought, must have taught himself to be this person from books, or – more probably – from watching plays in the theatre.
    He ought to have been seen in the light from candles along the front of a stage. His entrances and exits should have been accompanied by the din of shaken tin for thunder rolls. Why wasn’t he wearing make-up? (Or just conceivably he was?)
    *   *   *
    And I still thought that Sally too often failed to recognise what damned Arthur in my eyes.
    He was uncouth, inconsiderate, a bully. Ignorant, and very smug about being so. Bitter, and possibly vengeful.
    I read him like a book.
    But Sally wouldn’t condemn him outright. She told me, hadn’t his position always been awkward, knowing he’d been born a Havisham (‘half a Havisham’, I corrected her), but unable to acknowledge his birth (his bastard birth, as I knew for myself)? Could we either of us, she asked, imagine how uncertain his future life must have seemed to him?
    I nearly lost patience with her. I told her, we must agree to disagree; I was not to be converted to his cause.
    ‘I don’t mean to plead for him. I only tell you what I think.’
    Sally was quite composed, and not fired or indignant. Perhaps one reason for my own discomposure was feeling that she could take a clearer and less partisan view, whereas I had the onus – the millstone – of Havisham dignity to defend.

II
    D URLEY C HASE

E IGHT
    The dining room one evening, suppertime.
    My father on one side of the table, I on the other, and Arthur mercifully off at school.
    ‘I’ve arranged for you to have an education, Catherine.’
    I thought he was referring to my lessons in the house. I nodded.
    ‘I mean, to share your studies. And to live with some grander types than you’re used to here.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘The Chadwycks. Spelt with a “y”.’
    ‘“Live with” them?’
    ‘An acquaintance – Lady Charlotte and her children.’
    Acquaintance? I had never heard of the person, or her children.
    ‘In Surrey.’
    Surrey?
    ‘Not so far from Redhill.’
    Should the name ‘Redhill’ mean something to me? It didn’t.
    ‘I think it would be the best thing. You’ll see how that sort live. You’ll become one of them.’
    ‘Why, though?’
    ‘I’ve told you.’
    ‘Why me? Why the Chadwycks?’
    ‘Because I was talking to Lady Chadwyck about you. And we decided.’
    ‘When am I to go?’
    ‘Just as soon as you can get yourself ready and packed.’
    ‘I’ve really got to stay with them?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘What about my lessons here?’
    ‘Your tutors will find other employment. Tradesmen’s daughters round about.’
    Already I had been elected to a different league.
    *   *   *
    I wanted to take Sally with me.
    But how? As my maid?
    I felt the matter most delicate. She had always treated me as the master’s daughter, but I had never – even at my most heedless – treated her as a servant.
    I waited for my father to ask if I had anyone in mind, but he settled the matter without our discussing it. He selected one of the girls in the house.
    ‘I shall tell you all about it, Sally. I’ll write.’
    ‘You’ll have too much else on your mind.’
    ‘Not be able to find time for you ?’
    I knew my own resolve.
    ‘Never,’ I said. ‘Never.’
    *   *   *
    I twitch my mantle blue: Tomorrow to fresh woods, and