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see.”
    He was staring at me. “What is that you are wearing round your neck?”
    I touched it nervously. “It’s a locket, Papa.”
    “A locket! And why are you wearing it?”
    “Well, I always wear it, not so that it can be seen.”
    “Oh? In secret? And why pray? Tell me.”
    “Well … because I like wearing it and … it shouldn’t be seen.”
    “Should not be seen? Why not?”
    “Miss Bell says I am too young to wear jewellery.”
    “So you have decided to defy Miss Bell?”
    “Well, not really … but …”
    “Please speak the truth, Caroline.”
    “Well er—yes.”
    “How did you come by the locket?”
    I was unprepared for the shock my answer gave him.
    “It was a present from Captain Carmichael.”
    “He gave it to you yesterday?”
    “No. In the country.”
    “In the country. When was that?”
    “When he called.”
    “So he called, did he, when you were in the country?”
    He had snapped open the locket and was staring at the picture there. His face had turned very pale and his lips twitched; his eyes were like a snake’s and they were fixed on me.
    “So Captain Carmichael made a habit of calling on you when you were in the country.”
    “Not on me … on …”
    “On your mother?”
    “Not a habit. He came once.”
    “Oh, he came once, when your mother was there. And how long was his visit?”
    “He stayed two nights.”
    “I see.” He closed his eyes suddenly as though he could not bear to look at me nor at the locket which he still held in his hand. Then I heard him murmur: “My God.” He looked at me with something like contempt and, still holding the locket, he strode out of the room.
    I spent a sleepless night, and I did not want to get up in the morning because I knew there was going to be trouble and that I had, in a way, created it.
    There was a quietness in the house—a brooding menace, a herald of disaster to come. I wondered if Olivia sensed it. She gave no sign of doing so. Perhaps it was due to my guilty conscience.
    Aunt Imogen called with her husband, Sir Harold Carey, and they were closeted with Papa for a long time. I did not see Mama, but I heard from one of the servants that Everton had said she was confined to her bed with a sick headache.
    The day wore on. The brougham did not come to take Papa to the bank. Mama remained in her room; and Aunt Imogen and her husband stayed to luncheon and after.
    I was more alert even than usual, for I felt it was imperative for me to know what was going on, and my efforts were rewarded in some measure. I secreted myself in the small room next to the little parlour which led off from the hall and where Papa was with the Careys. It was a cubbyhole really in which was a sink and a tap; flowers were put into pots and arranged by the servants there. I had taken a vase of roses and could pretend to be arranging them if I were caught. I could not hear all the conversation, but I did catch some of it.
    It was all rather mysterious. I kept hearing words like scandalous, disgraceful and: “There must be no scandal. Your career, Robert …” and then mumbles.
    I heard my own name mentioned.
    “She should go away,” said Aunt Imogen emphatically. “A constant reminder … You owe yourself that, Robert. Too painful for you
    “It must not seem …”
    I could not hear what it must not seem.
    “That would be too much … It would provoke Heaven knows what … There’s Cousin Mary, of course … Why shouldn’t she? It’s time she did something for the family. It would give us a breathing space … time to make some plan … to work out what would be best …”
    “Would she?” That was my father.
    “She might. She is rather … odd. You know Mary. She feels no remorse … Probably has forgotten all the upset she’s caused. It’s an idea, Robert. And I do really think she should go away … I’m sure that’s best. Shall I get in touch with her … Perhaps better coming from me. I’ll explain the need … the urgent need