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William accepts them what can we do?”
    Sylvia seemed alert as though she were listening intently. Poor Sylvia! She would be one of those children who spoke only when spoken to. Again I felt grateful to my own parents.
    “And who is Alice Lincroft exactly?”
    “The housekeeper’s daughter, if you please. Mind you Mrs. Lincroft is a very superior housekeeper. And she was with the family before her marriage. She was companion to Lady Stacy, then she left and came back after she was widowed…came back with Alice. The child was only about two years old then…so she has lived most of her life at Lovat Stacy. It would be intolerable of course if she were not such a quiet child. But she gives no trouble—unlike Allegra. But that was a flagrant mistake. There’ll be trouble with that girl one day. I have often said so to the vicar and he agrees with me.”
    “And Lady Stacy?”
    “She died quite a long time ago…before Mrs. Lincroft came back as housekeeper.”
    “And there is another young lady whom I am to teach.”
    Mrs. Rendall smirked. “Edith Cowan…or rather Edith Stacy now. I must say it is all very odd. A married woman…poor thing.”
    “Because she is married?” I prompted.
    “Married!” snorted Mrs. Rendall. “I must say that was a very odd arrangement. I said so to the vicar and I shall continue to say so. Of course it is clear to me why Sir William arranged it.”
    “Sir William?” I put in. “Didn’t the young couple have anything to say about it?”
    “My dear young lady, when you have been at Lovat Stacy for a day you will learn that there is only one person who has any say in affairs there and that is Sir William. Sir William took Edith in and made her his ward and then he decided to bring Napier back and marry them off.” She lowered her voice. “Of course,” she excused her indiscretion, “you will soon be one of the household so you will discover these things sooner or later. It was only the Cowan money which could have induced Sir William to have Napier back.”
    “Oh?” I was prompting her to go on but I think she realized she had been a little too communicative and she sat back in her seat, her lips pursed, her hands clasped in her lap, looking like an avenging goddess.
    The train rocked in silence while I was trying to think of an opening gambit which would lure the loquacious woman to further indiscretions when Sylvia said timidly: “We are almost there, Mamma.”
    “So we are,” cried Mrs. Rendall, getting to her feet and scattering parcels. “Oh dear, I wonder if this wool is the right ply for the vicar’s socks.”
    “I am sure it is, Mamma. You chose it.”
    I studied the girl sharply. Was that a little irony? However Mamma did not appear to have noticed. “Here,” she said to the girl, “take this.”
    I too had risen and took down my bags from the rack. I was aware of Mrs. Rendall’s eyes on them, assessing them as she had assessed me.
    “I daresay you’ll be met,” she said and gave Sylvia a little push after which she followed her daughter onto the platform and turning to me continued: “Ah yes, there is Mrs. Lincroft.” She called in her somewhat shrill and penetrating voice: “Mrs. Lincroft. Here is the young person you are looking for.”
    I had alighted and stood with my two large bags beside me. The vicar’s wife gave me a brief nod and another to the approaching woman and went off with Sylvia at her heels.
    “You are Mrs. Verlaine?” She was a tall, slender woman in her mid-thirties, I guessed. There was an air of faded beauty about her and I was immediately reminded of the flowers I used to press among the pages of books. A large straw hat was tied under her chin with light colored veiling; her large eyes were a faded blue; her face a little gaunt for she was very slender. She was dressed in gray but her blouse was a cornflower blue, which I suspected gave a deeper blue to her eyes. There was certainly nothing formidable about her.
    I told her