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strange.”
    â€œWell, there’s nothing ordinary about the Creditons,” said Ellen proudly.
    â€œSo the babies were born?”
    â€œYes, two boys. I reckon if he’d have known Lady Crediton was to have a boy he wouldn’t have had all the scandal. But how was he to know?”
    Even Sir Edward didn’t know everything, I pointed out ironically, but Ellen was too carried away by the story to complain of my disrespect this time.
    â€œSo the two boys were to be brought up in the Castle and Sir Edward claimed them both. There was Rex.”
    â€œHe was to be the King.”
    â€œLady Crediton’s son,” said Ellen, “and Valerie Stretton’s was the other.”
    So he is the other.
    â€œRedvers. Valerie Stretton had the finest red hair you’ve ever seen. His turned out fair but he’s more like Sir Edward than like his mother. He was brought up with Master Rex; the same tutors, same school, and both brought up for the business. Young Red, he wanted to go to sea; perhaps Mr. Rex wanted it too, but he had to learn how to juggle with the money. So now you know.”
    Ellen then went on to talk of something of greater interest—to her—than the Creditons’ “goings-on”: her own relationship with the fascinating Mr. Orfey, the furniture remover who would one day marry her, when he could offer her the home he considered worthy of her. Ellen sincerely hoped he would not wait too long for she was no longer so young and she would be content with one room and as she put it “Mr. Orfey’s love.” But Mr. Orfey was not like that. He wanted to be sure of what he called a settled future; he wanted to put the money down for a horse and cart of his own from which he would expand.
    It was Ellen’s dream that one day a miracle would happen and the money would come from somewhere. Where did she think? I asked her. You never knew, she replied. Aunt Charlotte had once told her that if she was still in her employ at the time of her death there might be a little something for her. That was when Ellen had hinted that she might find more congenial employment elsewhere.
    â€œYou never know,” said Ellen. “But I’m not one to like waiting for dead men’s shoes.”
    I listened halfheartedly to an account of the virtues of Mr. Orfey, and all the time I was thinking of the man I had met—long ago now, the son of Sir Edward and the lady’s maid. I could not understand why I continued to think of him.
    ***
    I was now eighteen.
    â€œFinishing schools,” snapped Aunt Charlotte. “That was your mother’s nonsense. And where do you think the money would come from for finishing schools? Your father’s pay stopped with him and he saved nothing. Your mother saw to that. When he died I believe he was still paying off the debts she incurred. As for your future—it’s clear that you have a flair for this profession. Mind you, you have a lot to learn…and one is always learning, but I think you might be fairly promising. So you’ll leave school after next term and begin.”
    That was what I did and when a year later Miss Beringer decided to get married, the arrangement from Aunt Charlotte’s point of view was ideal. “Old fool,” said Aunt Charlotte, “At her time of life. You’d think she’d know better.” Miss Beringer might have been an old fool but her husband wasn’t and, as Aunt Charlotte told me, Miss Beringer had put a little money into the business—that was the only reason why Aunt Charlotte had taken her in—and now that man was making difficulties. There were visits from lawyers which Aunt Charlotte did not like at all, and I supposed that they came to some arrangement.
    It was true that I had a flair. I could go to a sale and my eyes would alight as if by magic on the most interesting pieces. Aunt Charlotte was pleased, though she rarely showed it; she stressed