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about Harriet.
    ‘She was an unusual person,’ I said. ‘People like her can’t go through life without having a marked effect on others.’
    I was thinking of people like my mother and Hessenfield—the beautiful people—and I wondered if I would be one of them when I grew up.
    At last we slept and rose fairly late the next morning. The household was already astir and when we went down to breakfast it was nine o’clock.
    One of the servants told us that Damaris had gone over to Enderby. She wanted to see that all was well and she wanted to tell Smith that we had been persuaded to stay on for a while.
    Anita and I were still at breakfast when Benjie came in. We told him that we were going to ride over to Enderby that morning and that Damaris had gone already. She had walked, for she did not ride nowadays. She was taking great care. But she enjoyed walking, even though the doctor had said she must not go too far.
    Benjie chatted with us for a while and later we all rode out together to Enderby. We tethered our horses and went into the house. The door was open, but there was nothing unusual about that as we knew Damaris was inside.
    I was struck immediately by the quietness of the place. Usually when I came in Damon would bark and come bounding towards me, or Damaris would call, or Jeremy or Smith perhaps. But the silence sent a pricking horror down my spine. I couldn’t say why. The house seemed to have changed. It was as though I were seeing it as the servants saw it—a house in which evil things could happen, a house haunted by the spirits of those who had lived violently and unhappily in it.
    It was a passing feeling. Obviously Smith was out. He often was. He took Damon for long walks through the lanes and over the fields.
    ‘Aunt Damaris!’ I called.
    There was no answer. She must be upstairs and could not hear, I told myself.
    I said: ‘Come on. We’ll find her.’
    I looked at the other two. It was clear that they had not felt that frisson of fear which had come to me. I started up the stairs ahead of them and saw Damaris’s shoe lying at the top of the stairs.
    ‘Something has happened,’ I said.
    Then I saw her. She was lying there in the minstrels’ gallery; her face was white and her legs twisted under her.
    Anita was on her knees first. ‘She’s breathing,’ she said.
    I knelt too, looking at my beloved Damaris. She gave a little moan.
    Benjie said: ‘We must get her out of here.’
    ‘Let’s get her to one of the rooms,’ said Anita, and Benjie picked her up. She moaned and I guessed that something had gone wrong about the baby. It was far, far too early for it to be born yet. Oh no, I prayed. Not this one too.
    Benjie carried her very gently. I opened a door and he laid her on a bed. It was the room which she had recently had refurnished, replacing the velvet with the damask.
    ‘I’ll go off at once and get the doctor,’ said Anita.
    ‘No,’ interrupted Benjie. ‘I’ll do that. You stay with her… you two. Look after her until I come back with the doctor.’
    Anita had had some experience of nursing for she had looked after her father for several years before his death. She covered Damaris up with blankets and told me to get warming-pans. I hurried down to the kitchen. A fire was burning there. Oh, where was Smith! If only he would come back he would be a great help. But I knew he walked for miles with Damon and it could be an hour before he returned.
    I took up the warming-pans and Anita laid them beside Damaris.
    Anita looked at me sadly. ‘I’m afraid she will lose the child,’ she said.
    Damaris opened her eyes. She looked bewildered. Then she saw me and Anita.
    ‘We came over and found you in the gallery,’ I said.
    ‘I fell,’ she replied; then she looked up and saw the damask hangings round the bed.
    ‘Oh no, no,’ she moaned. ‘Not… here… Never… never…’
    Anita touched her forehead and although she closed her eyes her expression was disturbed.
    It seemed a