《The Thirteenth Tale》


 THE LETTER

    It   yet late, turned into Laundress Passage. Fatcs and closed tters; but so I  come o darkness  on t over tairs to t. t cast a foolscap rectangle of paleness onto t pavement, and it  rectangle, about to turn my key in t I first sater. Anote rectangle, it ep from ttom, .

    I closed t ts usual place bery. Poor Bailey. No one ed  gray book for ty years. Sometimes I ’s tiny er  ting.

    A letter. For me. t . ts tents,  man a certain amount of trouble. Altyle of ting  it ten by a cters seemed untrained. trokes eito notco tters t spelled out my name. Eacaken separately—M A R G A R E t L E A—as a neing enterprise. But I kne is the hand of an invalid.

    It gave me a queer feeling. Yesterday or t my business, quietly and in private, some unknown person—

    some stranger—o trouble of marking my name onto t ed a thing?

    Still in my coat and , I sank onto tair to read tter. (I never read  making sure I am in a secure position. I ting on a er Babies, I ions of underer life t I unconsciously relaxed my muscles. Instead of being field buoyant by ter t so vividly surrounded me in my mind, I plummeted to t. I can still feel the ;car under my fringe now. Reading can be dangerous.)

    I opened tter and pulled out a sten in t. to my  manuscripts. t secret to it. Patience and practice are all t is required. t and to cultivate an inner eye.  t er, fire, lig to study not just tters but otion. t relax. til you ao a dream self oucickling your surface. t. tention of ter, s, ations,  illuminating t.

    Not t tter  began  “Miss Lea”; ter to cers, tences.

    t I read:

    I once did an intervie look it out one of trange c me. A boy, really. As tall as a man, but  of yout. t  for a muc, t  buy for a boy leaving sc job, imagining t o it. But boys do not leave their school uniform.

    tensity. t I set eyes on , “A’s er?”

    I’ve not people  from t t t so long as t start on about storytelling and y, turally t annoys me. But provided t  them.

    My gripe is not rut rut succor, ion is truto a story?  good is trut midnigning strikes saps at ts long fingernails? No. atue of you in your bed, don’t expect ruto come running to your aid.  you need are ts of a story. ty of a lie.

    Some ers don’t like intervie cross about it. “Same old questions, ” t do t? Reporters are ers are t because tions, it doesn’t mean ? I mean, making t’s ervieo be locked a of sigo t so frail a t it coy fingers of the newspapermen.

    In to try to catc. ttle piece of trut, dra out at an opportune moment and o startle me into revealing more. I o be careful. Incion I ed to take, use my bait to draly, imperceptibly, totier story te operation. tart to stle crutil it dropped from t never failed. A good story is alruth.

    Afterer intervie of rite of passage for journalists. t to expect, o leave  tory. A quick run tions ( your inspiration? Are your cers based on real people? er is you?) and ter my anster t. (Inside my  ting for, tant look stole across ttle c bedtime. And you, Miss inter, tell me about yourself.

    And I told. Simple little stories really, not muco t a ferands, ogetty pattern, a memorable motif tom of my ragbag. s from novels and stories, plots t never got finisillborn cers, picturesque locations I never found a use for. Odds and ends t fell out in ting. t’s just a matter of neatening titc’s done. Another brand-new biography.

    t as at ty. It o tell t Vida inter, and sold me a story.”

    Anyer, tell me trut kind of appeal is t? I’ve ratagems to trick me into telling, and I can spot t t? Laugever did ?

    A good question.  did ? ening ent fever. cer somete specific, I . ion. Perell me truth, he said.

    I felt a strange sensation inside. Like t coming to life. tery stirring of a previous life turning in my belly, creating a tide t rose in my veins and sent cool s to lap at my temples. tly excitement of it. tell me truth.

    I considered . I turned it over in my mind, h his pale face and his burning eyes.

    “All right, ” I said.

    An er , absentminded good-bye and no backward glance.

    I didn’t tell rutold ory. An impoveristle t a fecacked toget frayed. tory t looks like real life. Or o be, ’s not easy for someone of my talent to produce a story like t.

    I creet, sep a . All t energy, t. Not t I take all tter to believe me.

    I never saw him again.

    t feeling I  in my stomacemples, my fingertips—

    it remained e a ell me trut it  be still. It raction. More t, it  yet.” It sig fidgeted, but eventually it fell quiet. So quiet t I as good as forgot about it.

    a long time ago t y years? Forty? More, perime passes more quickly think.

    tely. tell me trutely I  again t strange inner stirring. tiplying. I can feel it, in my stomac t. It sucks t of my lungs and gna. From being a meek and biddable t  refuses all negotiation, blocks discussion, insists on its rig  take no for an ansrut ecer tcing back. And t turns to me, tigs grip on my innards, gives a t. e made a deal, remember?

    It is time.

    Come on Monday. I o meet you from t four arrival at e Station.

    Vida inter on tairs after reading tter? I don’t kno  ed deftly, take you prisoner. ind t move, ter your blood, numb your ts. Inside you t last o myself, I could only guess er done to me?

    I knetle about Vida inter. I urally of ts t usually came attaco -loved er; our century’s Dickens; t famous living aut ser researcill came as a surprise. Fifty-six books publisy-six years; translated into forty-nine languages; Miss inter y-seven times t borroeen feature films erms of statistics, t disputed question is t sold more books ty comes less from  aining solid figures for tever one ta are notoriously unreliable. t migerested me t, as I sat t ttom of tairs, y-t of information, or lack of encouragement, or after inducements or ts from Miss inter o give up trying to discover trut  I kneatistic, and it  seemed relevant: er  Lea, read? None.

    I sairs, yaretcurning to myself, I found t my ts ems in particular ed out of tritus t is my memory and placed for my attention.

    t tle scene involving my fate library clearance includes a number of Vida inters. At t deal in contemporary fiction. “I’ll take to ty s before t, to a priest, one to a cartograpo a military orian. Our clients’ faces, omary outo lig ter luncaloging and tomers,  reading as usual. It is late autumn, it is raining and ted up. In ter; oget, we are deep in our books. “Sea?” I ask, surfacing. No answer.

    I make tea all t a cup next to er toucea is cold. I make a fres and put moteaming cup beside o my ;very movement.

    Gently I tilt t I can see t is ter. I return to its original position and study my fat  see me. .

    t  memory.

    ter profile, carved massively out of ligoers unted, beneat is only an advertising pograped on a bill-board in a railation, but to my mind’s eye it ten queens and deities carved into rock faces by ancient civilizations. to contemplate te arc of tions of to marvel t tion can produce someturally perfect as ts of ture, ifact, a product not of blunt-tooled nature but of tistic endeavor. t embellisy of alabaster; it appears paler still by contrast e ts and coils of copper  are arranged  temples and dorong, elegant neck.

    As if travagant beauty  enougensified by some pograp of o an ins, t over ters  in-expression. I can’t say  day felt t ture; t perspective on t for me, looking into t  commonplace expression about teo t  have a soul.

    Suc of tter, tent of my kno Vida inter. It  mucion per er—kneime nobody kneery.

    Noter o be believed, Vida inter ed to tell trut self, but curiouser still  t:  to tell it to me?

 MARGARET’S STORY

    Rising from tairs, I stepped into t need t sco find my antly tips along t along s oe: tory of Map Making, tes from tings of t. Petersburg Cartograp contains ion me anyips where I was.

    e see feomers in Lea’s Antiquarian Booksellers, a scant ivity in September s come to buy copies of t texts; anoter tory. At otimes of t see-g a client. Every summer brings tourist en track, is prompted by curiosity to step out of to tant, blinking as . Depending on ing ice cream and cs on t stay for a bit of sranquility or  not. More commonly visitors to t us from a friend of a friend, and finding tour. ticipation on tep into t infrequently apologize for disturbing us. t and as amiable as t mostly it is just Fathe books.

    ? you migomers come and go. But you see, terms, just a sideline. takes place elseions a year. t  collectors, and  collections. If you o c tions or book fairs t tends frequently, you ice en ly spoken, quietly dressed individuals,  quiet. Does ioned. Fat doesn’t do to build up  on to  already , e of ttle green notebook. te some time. But later—a fe anotion or book fair, seeing a certain otentatively, en t, it ends t sometimes, folloions, tters. Fat deal of time composing letters. In Frencalian, even occasionally Latin. Nine times out of ten teous t sometimes—imes a year—to a journey. A journey in y-eigimes a year. this is our livelihood.

    tself makes next to no money. It is a place to e and receive letters. A place to  international bookfair. In t is an indulgence, one t my fatitles o. Yet in reality— my faty and mine; I don’t pretend reality is t of t is a repository of books, a place of safety for all tten, t at present no one seems to . And it is a place to read.

    A is for Austen, B is for Bronte, C is for C in tization at time as augo spell. I learned to e too: copying out names and titles onto index cards t are still ty years later. t ter scer e university. It was my life.

    My fat a book into my ead,  me roam and graze, making my oe selections. I read gory tales of oric  nineteentury parents t able for c stories t ; I read accounts of arduous travel treacaken by spinsters in crinolines, and I ;ad iquette intended for young ladies of good family; I read books ures and books ; books in Englis understand, ories in my  words. Books. Books. And books.

    At sc all to myself. ts of arco my essays, but my teacook takes, to eradicate times a ory lesson ouc random seams of knoimes I stayed mum, dumbstruck by tary collision of t irely apart.

    In beto o our more distant clients. At ten I ted to o t office. At eleven I relieved my mot against ty in in “old books,” so idious feater, igrying not to inime to time tir up a cloud of imaginary dust, and sably sockings on te t, able malevolence of books,  o be positioned beo do ting. It o come out to ter t.

    me looking for lost books. e designated items lost o t missing from tful position on t olen but, more likely, t in tminded broo ceiling housands of volumes.

    ‘And , cization,“ Father said.

    It  ake forever; I rusting it to me. to tell trut tered, for in undertaking it, it was serious.

    It took me a  tember, ed, every lost book urned to its  only t, but—and in retrospect, t seems important-—my fingers act, albeit briefly, he shop.

    By time I eens, I ance t on quiet afternoons le real o do. Once tock sters ten, once o to read.

    Gradually my reading green I found myself meandering on teentury literature, biograpobiograpters.

    My faticed tion of my reading.  migeresting for me. stle books, in manuscript mostly, yelloied ring, sometimes  simply read tite for food gre. It ion.

    I am not a proper biograp I am  all. or my oen a number of s biograpudies of insignificant personages from literary ory. My invest ing biograpime and y. I like to disinter lives tat   of print for decades pleases me more t anything else.

    From time to time one of my subjects is just significant enougo rouse terest of a local academic publisions to my name. Not books. Not says really, a feapled in a paper cover. One of my essays—“ternal Muse,” a piece on t te in tandem—caugory editor and ing and teentury. It must  captured ttention of Vida inter, but its presence in tion is quite misleading. It sits surrounded by ters, just as t I am only a dilettante, a talented amateur.

    Lives—dead ones—are just a  to sell t—but to look after ten I take out a volume and read a page or ter all, reading is looking after in a manner of speaking. t old enougo be valuable for tant enougo be souger by collectors, my co me, even if, as often as not, tside. No matter ents, t touc t enougo e them down.

    People disappear ually tural. Yet for some tion to tion. For in te tinue to exist. e can rediscover tone of voice, tten  you. ter you. All t ure s is a kind of magic.

    As one tends tend tten dead to resonate inside my , ters, irred by touc must be very lonely being dead.

    Altouce preoccupations, I can see nonet I ting off tial. I am not given to acts of self-revelation; it rato overcome my ual reticence, I ten anyto avoid ing t matters.

    And yet I e it. “Silence is not a natural environment for stories,” Miss inter told me once. “t t you.” Quite rigoo. So ory.

    I en  matters is t it   to keep. It was mine.

    My parents  t evening. t go out often, and  door to sit in Mrs. Robb’s kitc-door ly like ours but reversed, and t all made me feel seasick, so  rolled around, I argued once again t I  at  a babysitter. I   time my fato be persuaded  Mrs. Robb   eight.

    t t seven o’clock, and I celebrated by pouring a lass of milk and drinking it on tion at my o Lea, old enougo stay  a sitter, after t unexpectedly bored.  to do  off on a erritory of my neairs toilet. Everyt as it icular reason, I  t rouble blos’ oo insubstantial to rest, and ture, s brittle delicacy, cicks if a . Yes, t  in no time. I began to wisress.

    Upstairs I peered into t o see ed to t, to t, I studied my reflection from all angles, o see someone different. But it  myself.

    My o kneead, I pus room. table paid lip service to t you could brus dressed  some bes ty. ts ss and blankets tigucked in and smooting. t of t  room, but  was w.

    Perplexed, I backed out of tood on the landing.

    t. te of passage. Staying omorroo say, in t nig go to a sitter. I stayed ed t it o make of it. I’d expected t I o fit tomatically, t I  my first glimpse of tined to be. I’d expected to give up its co ss secret, adult side. Instead, cloaked in my ne younger t o grow up?

    I toyed o Mrs. Robb’s. But no. tter place. I craher’s bed.

    t t one scase, as gray in daylig  my mot never ted flaps, bund a angled skein of Cmas-tree lig of tree angel. t time I mas. No. as t a kind of growing up?

    riggling out from under t tin. “  from under tin—it ure of Scottisoo tigo open. Absently I tried t gave ronger fingers t I felt a pang of s and various, differently sized pieces of paper. Forms, part printed, part ten. ure.

    For me, to see is to read. It  s. My parents’ marriage certificate. tificates. My oificate. Red print on cream paper. My fature. I refolded it carefully, put it o t. It ical. I ificates?

    t. Same fate of birt name.

    o me in t moment? Inside my o pieces and came back togetly, in one of tions the brain is capable of.

    I win.

    Ignoring tumult in my head, my curious fingers unfolded a sec-id piece of paper.

    A deatificate.

    My twin was dead.&lt;kbd&gt;ｈｔｔ<a href="p://w" target="_blank">p://w</a>ｗｗ.９９liｂ?ｎeｔ&lt;/kbd&gt;

    I kne  ained me.

    tupefied by t surprised. For ire oo familiar to  tered quality in to my rigion of ligo me t set empty space vibrating. My pale shadow.

    Pressing my o my rig to s ure, one t o me in pain, in perplexity, under duress of any kind. too familiar to be pondered until nos meaning. I win. here she should have been. By my side.

    art turning again on its slo, So t’s it. Loss. Sorro  me apart from ot me company—all my life, and no I ificates, I kneer.

    After a long time tcairs. Pins and needles in my calves, I  as far as t ttom of tairs.

    ‘Is everyt, Margaret?“

    ‘Yes.“

    ‘ everything you need?“

    ‘Yes.“

    ‘ell, come round if you need to.“

    ‘All right.“

    ‘t be long now, your mum and dad.“

    S.

    I returned ts to tin and put tin back under t t of t tact as my eyes locked togetingled under he bones under my skin.

    Later, my parents’ steps on tairs.

    I opened ther gave me a hug.

    ‘ell done,“ he said. ”Good marks all round.“

    Motired. Going out ed one of her headaches.

    ‘Yes,“ she said. ”Good girl.“

    ‘And so, , s? Being home on your own?“

    ‘It was fine.“

    ‘t it op op of my ime for bed. And don’t read too long.“

    ‘I .“

    Later I s going about tting ready for bed. Fato find Moter.  so frequently did, “You’ll feel better after a good nig room closed. A fes later t click off.

    I kne t sical people instead.

    I win.

    My twin was dead.

    did t make me now?

    Under t t on my torso. ter  be of ts ancient ory. I ‘as as cold as a corpse.

    itter still in my  t upstairs to my flat, aircase narro eacories of books. As I , turning out ligo prepare pe letter refusal. I ell Miss inter, terest in contemporary ing. I er’s books. I  ervieer in my life. I  ease rutold, nervous of the living.

    It probably  necessary to put t last bit in tter.

    I couldn’t be boto make a meal. A cup of cocoa would do.

    aiting for to , I looked out of t glass . e pressed co cold, glassy c  not for to tell us apart.

 THIRTEEN TALES

    tell me trutter rapped in my rapped, it seemed, beneattic flat, like a bird t  in do ural t ted me; I rut left to discover it alone and in secret. tell me trute. But I resolved to put tter out of my  ime. I moved sly. In teetes to eigdress and slippers, ing for ttle to boil. Quickly, quickly. A minute to eig-er bottle er from tap. time  eigo an end. It ime.

    t te pages of my open book, illuminated by a circle of lampligeo anot t nig t  in suspense overnig I could not care about ually oget to secure myself to a strand of t, but as soon as I , a voice intervened—tell me trut unpicked t and left it flopping loose again.

    My ead over tes: te, uts, Jane Eyre…

    But it ell me truth…

    Reading  me do urning out t, I rested my ried to sleep.

    Ecs of a story. In tell me truth…

    At t out of bed, pulled on some socks, unlocked t door and,  doaircase and into the shop.

    At tiny room, not muc . It contains a table and, on a ss of broring. As ems t t holds a dozen or so books.

    tents of t rarely co look into it today you  nig a cover resting on its side, and next to it an ugly tooled leatin standing uprigany, tatty book of astronomy. A book in Japanese, anot?  kept ural companions on our neatly labeled s is ents of tire rest of the shop, more even.

    t I er—a small  four incy or so years old— of place next to all tiquities. It ence, and one of t to ask  it and s some in case, I put on te gloves. e keep t to o life roy turn ts paper cover intact and its corners unblunted, tion, one of a popular series produced to quite a andard by a publis no longer exists. A c edition, but not t you  to find among treasures. At jumble sales and village fetes, othe series sell for a few pence.

    tif of sangles  plain, one for title and auteen tales of Cion by Vida inter.

    I locked t, returned t to tairs back to bed, book in gloved hand.

    I didn’t intend to read. Not as suced. Sometrong enougo still tter t kept going around in my  fire ences, a page maybe, and to sleep.

    I removed t jacket and placed it for safety in t be too careful. Opening taste it.

    t a few words.

    But my eyes, brus line, were snared.

    All c is a universal trait. You  to knoell you about   be trut ory. And notelling tory.

    It o er.

    Peasants and princes, bailiffs and bakers’ boys, mercs and mermaids, tely familiar. I ories a imes before. tories everyone kne gradually, as I read, ty fell arange. ters  ture books, mecing out tory one more time. t fell from touc, and it left tang of metal on ongue o ears left salt burns on ories ’s desire—ter restored to life by a stranger’s kiss, t ed of  naked as a man, t only oo late did t pay for escaping tiny. Every er ainted. Fate, at first so amenable, so reasonable, so open to negotiation, ends up by exacting a cruel revenge for happiness.

    tales al and sbreaking. I loved them.

    It ale—t I began to feel stirrings of an anxiety t ed to tory itself. I racted: my t index finger  many pages left. tently until I tilted to c rue. teentale must be a very s one.

    I continued my reading, finisale turned the page.

    Blank.

    I flicked back, forhing.

    teentale.

    t too fast to the surface.

    Aspects of my room came back into vieill s t o creep in tains.

    It was morning.

    I  away.

    teentale.

    In tting at tairs and looked up, we-faced.

    ‘ever is it?“ I darted forward.

    oo so speak; o a mute gesture of desperation before slohemselves over his horrified eyes. he groaned.

    My  I am not in t of touc fell instead to t he back of his chair.

    ‘Is thing I can do?“ I asked.

    o pe. In a minute…”

    ‘t’s happened?“

    ‘A break-in.“  sound like the world.

    I looked around t and in order. t been forced, t ransacked, t broken.

    ‘t,“ o understand.

    ‘teen tales.“ I spoke firmly. ”Upstairs in my flat. I borro.“

    Fat me. ter astonis. “You borro?”

    ‘Yes.“

    “You borro?”

    ‘Yes.“ I he shop, as he knew.

    ‘But Vida inter…?“

    And I realized t some kind of explanation was called for.

    I read old novels. torations, tragic separations and un falls and dreams fulfilled; titute an ending . ter adventures, perils, dangers and dilemmas, and ly. Endings like to be found more commonly in old novels than new ones, so I read old novels.

    Contemporary literature is a tle of. My fataken me to task on topic many times during our daily talks about books.  more  for iful desolation  t to  are muted, but  ambiguity touc more nearly tyle of finis I prefer.

    During talks, I listen  attention and nod my  I alinuing in my old s. Not t . too many books in to read in a single lifetime; you o drahe line somewhere.

    Once Fatold me about Vida inter. “Noer w you.”

    But I er. ers I ill not discovered?

    Except t noo take teen tales from t. My fath good reason, was wondering why.

    ‘I got a letter yesterday,“ I began.

    he nodded.

    ‘It er.“

    Fat ed for me to go on.

    ‘It seems to be an invitation for me to visit o ing her biography.“

    ed by anoters.

    ‘I couldn’t sleep, so I came doo get the book.“

    I ed for Fato speak, but . er a time I spoke again. “ kept in t?  makes it so valuable?”

    Fatrain of t to ansly because it’s t edition of t book by t famous living er in t mostly because it’s flaion is called tales of Cion. No mention of teen. You’ll iced tories?”

    I nodded.

    ‘Presumably to be teen, tted. But t design and ted itle and only tories. to be recalled.“

    ‘But your copy…“

    ‘Slipped t. One of a batc out by mistake to a s, o pack ty years ago  t be and sold it to a collector. tor’s estate ioned in September and I boug. ithe Avignon deal.“

    ‘t aken to negotiate t  lucrative successes.

    ‘You he gloves, of course?“ he asked sheepishly.

    ‘ake me for?“

    inuing. “All t effort for nothing.”

    ‘ do you mean?“

    ‘Recalling all title  people still call it teen tales, even t’s been publisales of Cion for ury.“

    ‘?“

    ‘It’s ion of fame and secrecy does. it , fragments of information like tory of t edition take on an importance beyond t. It  of ery of teentale. It gives people someto speculate about.“

    t silence. ting o tance, and speaking lig I could pick up  ted.”

    I remembered tter, my fear t its er  to be trusted. I remembered tence of tell me die truteen tales t took possession of me s first o be age again.

    ‘I don’t knoo do,“ I told my father.

    ‘It is different from . Intervieead of archives.“

    I nodded.

    ‘But you  to knoe teen tales.“

    I nodded again.

    My fat  reading is.  takes you.

    ‘ you to go?“

    ‘Monday,“ I told him.

    ‘I’ll run you to tation, shall I?“

    ‘thank you. And—“

    ‘Yes?“

    ‘Can I ime off? I ougo do some more reading before I go up there.“

    ‘Yes,“  didn’t hide his worry. ”Yes, of course.“

    ** *t glorious times of my adult life. For t time ever I able a pile of brand-ne and Beter; ter; ings by Vida inter; Out of ter; Rules of Affliction by Vida inter; ter; t Ser. tist, glo and po, gold and deep purple. I even bougales of Cion; its title looked bare  teen t makes my faturned to t.

    Of course one aler’s books gave me tance. But it . I  every stage of my life, and time est joy. And yet I cannot pretend t t years matcs impact on my soul till believe in stories. I still forget myself  is not t must be said, t important t I cannot forget is t time ial t. algic yearning for t pleasure of books. It is not a yearning t one ever expects to be fulfilled. And during time, t, erpane streo read again—t joys of reading returned to me. Miss inter restored to me ties of tories she ravished me.

    From time to time my fat t top of :airs. ared at me. I must  dazed look intense reading gives you. “You  forget to eat, will you?”  of milk.

    I ay in my flat forever  if I o go to Yorkso meet Miss inter, to be done. I took a day off from reading and  to t tional neer’s recent novels. For every ne came out, ss to a el in e, ely,  ories in existence,  ty  looking very hard.

    After tion of Bet and Beter in t publicity for ings by telling esan. For t S, a street creets of t End and tifled only girl in a family of ten boisterous boys. I particularly liked tally separated in India from tiss, s an existence for reets of Bombay, making a living as a storyteller. Sold stories about pine trees t smelled like t coriander, mountains as beautiful as taj Mareet-corner pakora and bagpipes. Oiful it defied description. er so return to Scotland—a country s as a tiny baby—sed. trees smelled notasted flat. As for the bagpipes…

    ry and sentimental, tragic and astringent, comic and sly, eacories erpiece in miniature. For a different kind of er, t be t; for Vida inter taken truth.

    ture  ternoon at y parents’  never cion could re-ice it to rubble.

    My motaut smile and talked brigea. to  , empty c, produced to keep since at bay, silence in o reveal t so leave t t minor unexpected event gave  s read a book for fear of t find in it.

    Fated until Mot to make fresea before talk-g about Miss inter.

    ‘It’s not old  o trace ried  of information. No one kno fact about her.“

    ‘how curious.“

    ‘It’s as if ser s exist at all. As if sed  time as her book.“

    ‘e kno reveal someted.

    ‘Vida. From vita, Latin, meaning life. t oo.“

    Vide in Frency. t  ;e s’  it for o infer.

    ‘Quite.“  about inter?“

    inter. I looked out of tion. Beer’s g, dark brancretcection against te t did er mean to me? One th.

    t became necessary to say somet to burden tolerable er. Very spiky.”

    My motea, salked on, ig of life as t were seven acres.

    My attention el over t in t migive. A pograpen my motalks about putting it a. But my fato see it, and since o ure are a youtly ful eyes; t caneous smile, laug my father. She looks happy.

    tragedy alters everything.

    I o disappeared.

    I looked out into t t, my so t did s did stempts to persuade ourselves t t ?

    ARRIVALI left er day, and for miles my train ran . under a gauzy rains, and ted, as I traveled nort any moment I expected to  scattering of ?ops on t t come.

    At e, Miss inter’s driver, a dark-o talk. I  me free to study t unfolded as soon as  too London and, once or to libraries and cy I kneury at t. Once  to o believe I raveling into t at time as into tryside. t, one cottages; t, ter tance betil isolated farmerruptions to ter fields. At last  even t gre a vergeless road and eac, vague undulations of darkness.

    ‘Is the moors?“ I asked.

    ‘It is,“ to t all I could make out erlogged sky t pressed doropain distance even t from our inguished.

    At an unmarked junction urned off tony track. e stopped to open a gate and close it be, jolting and sher mile.

    Miss inter’s - seemed to merge into eac revealed t t turn of t croucepped out to see t o pull a of an unlit porcters blacked out t a single sign of ation. Closed in upon itself, to sors.

    I rang ts clang ed in ted I c till no one came to the door.

    About to ring for a time, I he door was opened.

    ting. At first sig, neat  it  made ion in ted,  seemed to me, as sciny lance for glance, t sained y only by deliberate effort.

    ‘Good evening,“ I said. ”I am Margaret Lea.“

    ‘ting you.“

    is it t alloendings? For I understood quite clearly in t moment t sions aste; perransmit em unknoions in tever t as surely t it  me in particular t alarmed  only t t I ranger.

    Surned t a sound and t a squeak as ts o place.

    Standing t in t time t profound oddity of ter’s irely silent.

    told me  s my journey and mentioned t times to get  er.  of silence t descended and extinguisfalls, and muffled ter anothe music room.

    t -furnis did it. Overstuffed sofas  cusered footstools, capestries ered furniture, every floor ed, every carpet overlaid  draped t as blotting paper absorbs ink, so all t absorbed sound, ting paper takes up only excess ink, to suck in the words we spoke.

    I follourned left and rig and left,  up and doairs until I  all sense of ed interior of ts outer plainness. tered over time, I supposed, added to ension invisible from t. “You’ll get t,” tood urned from a o a . S opened into a sitting room. t. “Batudy.” tains and  of the house.

    ‘ill you take your meals in ting table and a single che window.

    I did not knoing ess, and unsure of my status in t or an employee?), I ated, er to accept or to refuse. Divining tainty, to overcome a  of reticence, “Miss inter als alone.”

    ‘t’s all to you, I’ll eat here.“

    ‘I’ll bring you soup and sandrain. You’ve to make your tea and coffee just o reveal a kettle, tiny fridge. ”It o tc, for not ing me in chen.

    S me to my unpacking.

    In t e to unpack my feoiletries. I pusea and coffee to one side and replaced t of cocoa I  from  enougime to test tique bed— tress and I  kno—before turned ray. “Miss inter invites you to meet  eig to make it sound like an invitation, but I under-stood, as I  meant to, t it was a command.

 MEETING MISS WINTER

    I cannot say, but I found my o ty minutes earlier to attend. It  a problem.  better place to kill time t better o get to knoreatment of books?

    My first impression  struck me by its marked difference from t of ted , sters at tall h solid oak shelves.

    It o floor; at ts alled. Facing tioned to reflect tside, but tonigters. tended from to table. Apart from t ting, and it created soft, ion at ted into darkness.

    Sloer of taking a look to t and left. After my first glances I found myself nodding. It ained library. Categorized, alpized and clean, it  as I es  number of rare and valuable volumes as  only Jane Eyre, uts, te, but tle of Otranto, Lady Audley’s Secret, tre Bride. I o come across a Jekyll and Mr.  my fats existence.

    Marveling at tion of volumes on Miss inter’s so t, one particular set of sood it even from some distance: Instead of displaying tly broripes t ack s decades. ter’s o titles at top of tack and ;cent novels at ttom, eaced in its many different editions and even in different languages. I saeen tales, titled book I  t in its otales of Cion t editions.

    I selected a copy of Miss inter’s most recent book. On page one an elderly nun arrives at a small reets of an unnamed to seems to be in Italy; so a room o be Engliss urned t paragrap as I ime I  meaning to, I began to read in earnest.) t at first appreciate ands: t or  er is life in ed to foresee. Sion and bears it patiently (I turned tten tten Miss inter, forgotten myself) s y of indulged youth…

    And trated t of tion at the neck.

    Someone ching me.

    I kno an uncommon p ime it o me. Like t many solitary people, my senses are acutely attuned to to being to being spied upon. Noc only t, but akable sensation been tickling me? I t back over t minutes, trying to retrace t since to speak to to t moving a muscle,  over ticed notried to remember.

    then I realized.

    I  it even before I picked up the book.

    Needing a moment to recover myself, I turned tinuing tense of reading.

    ‘You can’t fool me.“

    Imperious, declamatory, magisterial.

    to be done but turn and face her.

    Vida inter’s appearance  calculated for concealment. S queen, sorceress or goddess. iff figure rose regally out of a profusion of fat purple and red cusurquoise-and-green clot cloaked  soften ty of  copper o an elaborate confection of ts, curls and coils. ricately lined as a map, ick. In er of rubies, emeralds and ruck an incongruous note.  unnerved me more t er, o develop t; I  from beo my very soul.

    I drerality, hid behind appearance.

    For an instant I t I  transparent,‘t s see straig shan I had.

    ‘Very ly, and o business. Your letter gives me to understand t you ions about the commission I am offering you.“

    “ell, yes, t is—”

    t  registered terruption. “I could suggest increasing tipend and the final fee.”

    I licked my lips, soug er’s dark saking in my flat broraig and navy cardigan. Sying smile and overrode my intention to speak. “But pecuniary interest is clearly not in your nature. .” one en about people  I never expected to meet one.” S t ty concerns integrity. People y.”

    S of my moutaking an aut t I  to exert control over tent of t I ed biograp and are o you.”

    I opened my mouto protest but found noto say. S.

    ‘You see, you don’t knoo say, do you? Are you embarrassed to accuse me of ing to lie to you? People don’t like to accuse eac down.“

    I sat do accuse you of anyt immediately serrupted me.

    ‘Don’t be so polite. If t abide, it’s politeness.“

    cop of trong black arc bore no relation to any natural brow.

    ‘Politeness. Noue if ever t’s so admirable about inoffensiveness, I so knoer all, it’s easily acicular talent to be polite. On trary, being nice is  ion don’t give a damn  t sleep  then he was a genius.“

    lessly on, recalling instance after instance of genius and its bedfelloeel, I t.

    Eventually sure to a close eness is a virtue I neiteem in ot concern ourselves .” And , sopped.

    ‘You raised topic of lying,“ I said. ”t is somet concern ourselves h.“

    ‘In ?“ t see ts of Miss inter’s lass body.

    ‘You een different versions of your life story to journalists in t t’s just there are many more. hundreds, probably.“

    S’s my profession. I’m a storyteller.”

    ‘I am a biograps.“

    Sossed iff curls moved as one. “ you tell’s trutter ory?”

    ‘Not in tories you old the world so far.“

    Miss inter conceded a nod. “Miss Lea,” sing a smoke screen around my past, lose reasons, I assure you, are no longer valid.”

    ‘ reasons?“

    ‘Life is compost.“

    I blinked.

    ‘You t a strange to say, but it’s true. All my life and all my experience, ts t asies, everyt o t ime it ted doo a dark, ric unrecognizable. Ot tion. I t as a compost en I take an idea, plant it in t, and . It feeds on t black stuff t used to be a life, takes its energy for its o germinates. takes root. Produces ss. And so on and so fortil one fine day I ory, or a novel.“

    I nodded, liking the analogy.

    ‘Readers,“ continued Miss inter, ”are fools. t-; is autobiograp is, but not in ter’s life needs time to rot a can be used to nourision. It must be alloo decay. t’s rieving bits and pieces of it, preserving it in to e my books I needed my past left in peace, for time to do its work.“

    I considered  o chings now?”

    ‘I am old. I am ill. Put ts toget do you get? tory, I think.“

    I bit my lip. “And e the book yourself?”

    ‘I  it too late. Besides, en.“

    ‘Do you intend to tell me truth?“ I asked.

    ‘Yes,“ s I ation even t lasted only a fraction of a second.

    ‘And o tell it to me?“

    Sion for t quarter of an  w kind of a person are you, Miss Lea?”

    I fixed my mask in place before replying. “I am a sant. I iquarian bookseur biographers? ”

    ‘It’s not muco go on, is it? If o ogeto knotle more about ime to a person of  yourself.  are your favorite books?  do you dream about? hom do you love?“

    On tant I oo affronted to reply.

    ‘ell, anso ranger living under my roof? A stranger  is not reasonable. tell me ts?“

    Governed by sometronger than reason, I rose from my chair.

    ‘ever are you doing? !“

    I took one step after anotrying not to run, conscious of t rapping out on to me in a voice t contained an edge of panic.

    ‘Come back!“ so tell you a story—a marvelous story!“

    I did not stop.

    ‘Once upon a time ted house—“

    I reache handle.

    ‘Once upon a time there was a library—“

    I opened t to step into its emptiness opped me in my tracks.

    ‘Once upon a time twins—“

    I ed until topped te  rose, trembling, to ted face.

    tentatively I took a step back into t t, turned.

    I unned. t as glass and as real, looked to me  I simply stared back. t you please sit do Vida inter’s.

    Drarol, I moved to down.

    ‘I’m not making any promises,“ I said wearily.

    ‘I’m not in a position to exact any,“ came the answer in a small ice.

    truce.

    “ime she answered.

    ‘Because of your  siblings.“

    ‘And ell me truth?“

    ‘I ell you truth.“

    t I remor t determined t to tell me trut doubt it. So tell. Pered to tell. Only s quite believe t sy  its  as clearly as I did.

    And so I made a suggestion. “I  are a matter of public record. o c you tell me. If I find you old me trut t the commission.”

    ‘Arials before ted to talking fiss Gruff. Miss Lea, if you ions or four I migo lie, but three…“

    I slid my pencil from the cover.

    ‘ is your real name?“

    Se sure t o proceed? I could tell you a g story—a rat migter ting to t of things…”

    I sell me your name.”

    ted in ones glo.

    ‘My name is Vida inter. I  to be able to call myself by t name legally and ly.  you  to knoo t name was—“

    So overcome some obstacle  iceable neutrality, an utter absence of intonation, as t  name was Adeline March.”

    As to cut s even tion tinued ratartly, “I  going to ask my date of birt o ten it.”

    ‘I can manage , if you give me your place of birth.“

    Sated sigell you mucter, if you o tell it my way…”

    ‘t we s on public record.“

    S is a matter of record t Adeline Marc Bartal, London. I can ed to offer any personal guarantee of ty of t detail. tional person, I am not so exceptional t I can remember my oh.”

    I noted it down.

    Noion. I  must be admitted, no particular tion prepared. S  to tell me e of birtory and te of  book, s be less ty-to judge by ered t  tainty didn’t matter; e out for myself any tions, I already ion I needed in order to ascertain t a person by tually existed.  to ask, t o er tell a story, but ion as a .

    ‘tell me,“ I began sloories  everytrously snatcell me somet o you in ts a public record.“ Educational successes, I ing acs. triump are recorded for proud parents and for posterity.

    In t folloer seemed to drao o absent o understand   earlier I o see c ty of knohe surface.

    And then she emerged.

    ‘Do you know why my books are so successful?“

    ‘For a great many reasons, I believe.“

    ‘Possibly. Largely it is because t order. Of course all stories  is  order t matters. t is why people like my books.“

    Sed o ansion. I am going to tell you somet myself, s a public record. It is t important t o me. But I did not expect to find myself telling it to you so soon. I so break one of my rules to do it. I so tell you tory before I tell you the beginning.”

    ‘tory?  be, if it arted ing? “

    ‘Quite simply because my story—my oory—ended before my ing began. Storytelling ime since everything finished.“

    I ed, and sh like a chess player who finds his key piece cornered.

    ‘I  tell you. But I  I? t’s unavoidable. t beg t to make a t er, but to grant it because it is in tory. You asked me to tell you trut t, because of t let me first ask you someturn.“

    ‘?“

    ‘After t in tory. From tomorroell you my story, beginning at tinuing  ts proper place. No eating. No looking aions. No sneaky glances at t page.

    Did s to place conditions on our deal, ed it? Not really. Still, I nodded.

    ‘I agree.“

    S quite look at me as she spoke.

    ‘I lived at Angelfield.“

    rembled over tc ure.

    ‘I een.“

    ilted; fluency deserted her.

    ‘there was a fire.“

    t ones.

    ‘I lost everything.“

    And top it, “Oh, Emmeline!”

    tures in  a name contains all a person’s mystical po a name so God d to t and to very feo pronounce suco invite jeopardy. t seemed, was such a name.

    Miss inter pressed ogetoo late. A tremor ran roughe skin.

    Noied to tory. I umbled upon t tale t I o tell. It  exclamation be but bereavement? In a flase makeup and tic aperies. For a fe seemed to me t I could see rigo Miss inter’s , rigo s. I recognized to, for  not the essence of me?

    e ion, tory tigs, and my excitement  th fear.

    ‘rying not to let my perturbed feelings show in my voice.

    ‘the Banbury herald.“

    I nodded, made a note in my pad and flipped the cover closed.

    ‘Alt kind t I can show you now.“

    I raised an eyebrow.

    ‘Come nearer.“

    I rose from my cook a step, ance between us.

    Sloo me a closed fist t seemed ters precious stones in ttings. In a movement t spoke of great effort, surned , as t concealed and  to offer it tome.

    But t. tself.

    ts ion to t ted by fire, o an entirely unrecognizable landscape, like a scene left permanently altered by t lie open but o a claigissue. In t of esque mark. It  very deep in c  o t s made sense of t of t t, t seemed to ending from it, in tion of t line.

    t it no t at time, in ted and painful act of revealment, it y, and it disturbed me by t and unreadable language.

    A sudden vertigo took hold of me and I reached behind me for my air.

    ‘I’m sorry,“ I s so used to one’s oo other people.“

    I sat do the edge of my vision receded.

    Miss inter closed o  and dreed fist back into ective gesture s.

    ‘I’m sorry you didn’t  to  story, Miss Lea.“

    ‘I’ll  anotime.“

    Our interview was over.

    On my o my quarters I t of tter s me. trained and painstaking  I  it doo illness. Artis perood. From t book and tire career, Miss inter ten erpieces  hand.

    In my study t curtains ermark tin covered te t  c stood under tc t  o start a ne  took from my bag o t t directly underneath.

    On impulse I climbed onto te valance to tain pole. My fingers groped for tops of tains, and I felt for titc attac erlined, and t, flung over my s after a fees, first one tain ood in ter of t of my work.

    ter of it, my g, darkly transparent, aring in at me.  unlike my oline of a desk on ttoned armc cast by a standard lamp. But he.

    togettle ritual of preparing our desks. e divided a ream of paper into smaller piles and flicked to let turning tco t pencil o a fine point,  put it do kept .

    ‘to her. ”Ready for work.“

    So speak to me. I couldn’t  she was saying.

    I ervieed dos of keye up our intervieely aftero jog my memory. And from t first meeting, it  my notebook from time to time, I filled ter of my ss of foolscap er’s  aking dictation from ter in my head.

    I left -ed any mannerisms, expressions and gestures t seemed to add someto her meaning.

    t- blank. Later, rereading, it er my os, comments, questions.

    I felt as to make myself a cup of cocoa, but it ime suspended and did not disturb tion; I returned to my erruption.

    ‘One gets so used to one’s oo ote at last in t I added a note describing t of the damaged one.

    I dre line of script, and stretcretcook ts shem one by one.

    So o  it er of er. Anot greer and faster. In a fe seemed, had decomposed.

    But it  t ed rain.

    I opened t my er over my eyes and face. I sime for bed.

    I left t I could listen to t continued to fall ness. I   accompanied my dreams like a poorly tuned radio left on t, broadcasting a fuzzy cunes.

 AND SO WE BEGAN…

    At nine o’clock t morning Miss inter sent for me and I  to he library.

    By daylige different. itters folded back, t  t flood in from till  from t’s doic plants by ts seemed to touce frame retco brancself, slig before, appeared as a mirage of books in t er garden.

    In contrast to te sun, Miss inter ic er garden. Soday, but ra-style erday. In t I sa before: along traiging in Miss inter’s copper curls was a narrow margin of pure we.

    ‘You remember our agreement,“ s do order. No cing. No looking aions.“

    I ired. A strange bed in a strange place, and I onic tune ringing in my art where you like,” I said.

    ‘I sart at t is. Our lives are so important to us t end to tory of t t t is not so.  pieces of string t can be separated out from a knot of ot straigo touc of it  setting t vibrating. Impossible to understand one part  he whole.

    ‘My story is not only mine; it is tory of Angelfield. Angelfield tself. George and Matunes, t. One stention to gs, s one, Miss Lea?“

    Sended not to see it.

    ‘A birt really a beginning. Our lives at tart are not really your o only tinuation of someone else’s story. take me, for instance. to look at me no  you? Accompanied by strange portents, and attended by c no. Not a bit of it. In act, w.

    ‘But ory t precedes my birt are tion come from? ell, icular. Not t I earned it all directly from imes, it is true, s t  my presence as ss and conversations and scenes rose to  afrescable. But sooner or later tory able for a cable in particular for me—t mid-sentence and start rubbing tlery vigorously, as if to erase t altoget ts in a ory togetalked ea, I learned to interpret t punctuated seemingly innocent conversations. it appearing to notice anyt glances t certain  talk privately… t in fact alone. In tood tory of my origins. And later, ory I  years divining. It is tory—t came to me in s, glances and silences—I am going to translate into words for you now.“

    Miss inter cleared , preparing to start.

    ‘Isabelle Angelfield was odd.“

    o slip aious.

    ‘Isabelle Angelfield orm.“

    It came again, t loss of voice.

    So used  it ropart, t, like a gifted musician  playing, takes up rument again, she finally found her way.

    Sold me tory of Isabelle and Charlie.

    Isabelle Angelfield was odd.

    Isabelle Angelfield orm.

    It is impossible to knos are connected.

    But  ime, people in t erday t tor e, delayed by t its banks. Ot t t strangling   birt, for on troke of six, just as tor rang t t of to t? So if tor  deprived t died…

    And if, and if, and if. Sucless. Isabelle  is all to say about tter.

    t, a  to all intents and purposes, it looked like soo. For o a decline. -blank to come out. t seem excessive; ten years of marriage is usually enougo cure marital affection, but Angelfield  was. he had loved his wife—

    empered, lazy, selfisty Mat never entered George’s o wonder w was,  of C all.

    Bereaved, driven  all day in ting not s too, on t sleeping but staring red-eyed at t on for montie stopped speaking. Specialists  again. t of affection, and iced.

    In t fed up  all. Sook airs. Srode past tler, ignoring estations, and  into t knocking. Up to t a urned , slamming the door behind her.

    tler made to go in, to retrieve t, but t you dare!” artled t s gatside t one anot knoo do. But tion hing.

    It ernoon, and at t one of to t! ter’s come out!”

    At airs to  had happened.

    ts ood about in tening at t first ter just sat t ts exconis, but toniser to  and ts reported, did not once take er’s face. t to crying. ensity and pitcil finally the door was flung open.

    tood my grandfath his baby in his arms.

    Seeing s standing idly about,  t: “Is a baby left to starve in this house?”

    From t day on George Angelfield took personal cer. , moved  into , fas ake o ters, ts pages and romantic novels), and ss and plans , as t companion and not a  child.

    Per -topped boy,  and a slo Isabelle ined s. to a ricretcter cter mouting eyes and long las  o reveal tonis  least, perfection itself.

    ted to tate of affairs. t to be irely normal for a fato dote on er. It  to be considered unmanly, ungentlemanly or ridiculous t  antly by him.

    But  Cted boy  o learn neroduced to ts to  instances of bad bes o foresee. ent disciplinarian; sometimes  otimes merely laugern, racted, and ts ended ly forgotten. Catc of t t be some misdemeanor to correct, and  if it  actually o  time. taugayed out of ther.

    itoo busy tle Isabelle to concern erical reports from  mice roasted  or pins pressed by malicious o to do as  pleased  top of ttic stairs and cumble doheir ankles.

    t to ’s content, in tain kno  a. Consistent adult beo be good for cent neglect certainly suited the day is long.

    George Angelfield’s adoration of er persisted trials a c on a parent. arted to talk, o be preternaturally gifted, a veritable Oracle, and o consult il to be run according to three-year-old child.

    Visitors ricity into cs began to complain among tler  before t up for a year longer imes t too, ice.  sook tc  to to ensure t odd  under no obligation to occupy t unreasonably t ted ts and bruises, sprained ankles and stomacs to Cic experiments. t and emporary ed long. Finally even temporary h.

    By time Isabelle o George Angelfield, tdoors, taking refuge in turned cold. If George Angelfield noticed tion, tic squalor,  regret it. he had Isabelle; he was happy.

    If anyone missed ts it  for subjects for s. ing around for someone to ,  er to do, on er.

    afford to make  y. o get her away?

    By enticement.  of t garden, bet topiary garden and along to ts.

    Cer im, and er, urn out exactly as ed. Cer’s sleeve up and dre, along te inside of ared at t urned  out  to omatically. Sured tion dre to .   once and trickled. Sisfaction as s it and to ioned to o pull up his sleeve.

    C o ed it, and he pain.

    Instead of a victim Crangest of conspirators.

    ** *Life  on for ties, sans  meetings, sans  of t people of took for granted in turned tate to be managed by tenants, and depended on ty of today transactions  were necessary for survival.

    George Angelfield forgot about time t about  o do h money.

    ty. Otocratic families. Among took great care of  out t advice, invested large sums ed and speculated small sums  t, in t completely. t up—moderately. ion  son and a goggle-eyed, ter. Someto be done.

    George Angelfield never saers,  e back. As a consequence of tead of expending itself cer anots bank vault and gre.

    Money talks. ord got out.

    ‘Doesn’t George Angelfield . ”y-six?“

    And if not t t t be reaco dote on  come empty-handed.

    ‘Nice  see tion.

    tation languisnig migil t of t not been for Isabelle. One afternoon, at a loss for someto do, sairs, puffed out ter up and opened it.

    ‘’s t?“ said Charlie.

    ‘Invitation,“ so a picnic.“

    A picnic? Curned it over. It seemed strange. But  it.

    Isabelle stood up and  to the door. “here are you going?”

    ‘to my room.“

    Co follohe mood.”

    ook a  time. But sed ahe door.

    An er, airs,  to to th me,” he asked her.

    ‘No.“

    ‘to the deer park.“

    “No.”

    iced t s do you look like t for?” upid.”

    S o te material and trimmed ead of ennis s on a pair of green satin sandals a size too big—also ttacick on.  darkened. “here are you going?” he asked.

    ‘to the picnic.“

    ohe library.

    ‘No!“

    he pulled her harder.

    S him, “Charlie, I said no!”

    ,  meant no.  out in t. Semper for days.

    Surned  door.

    Full of anger, Co . But

    s slackened;  of to the picnic.

    t tty picture from a distance, in te ss. t sparkled in t, and t t looked soft enougo go barefoot. In reality, tering beneat to take to ill, to feign jollity, in t tense hing.

    A young man at t sig up near trange outfit accompanied by a lump of a man. t her.

    o respond to o see ention and fell silent in turn. A group of young ernally alert to turned to see , y turned to face truck dumb.

    Across the wide lawn walked Isabelle.

    S parted for ed for Moses, and sraig to tood on a flat rock t jutted out over ter. Someone came tole, but s, it  ake more to cool her down.

    Sook off ree and, arms outstretc o ter.

    to ter streaming from  recalled they gasped again.

    to ter er, after s ime. ty and condemnation. t in  time. But on t  doo ss, and people eful to  ty to life.

    One of t, ie and leapt into t of ime at all, ter, diving, calling, sing and outdoing one anoticism and splash.

    to go. t on t excited faces and splaso ter, uttering cries t tmost to prevent any excessive dampening of their hair.

    ts he men had eyes only for Isabelle.

    C folloo ter. ood, a little fartcs. ung as t from o t  bear to take his eyes off Isabelle.

    er  t  seemed an eternity. Enlivened by Isabelle’s presence t on muced, and yet it seemed to ts to ayed longer if ty broke up s of oto come, a round of promised invitations and damp kisses.

    arranged around  far off a girl loitered, uncertain o t clear ser.

    ‘Come on,“ Co er.

    ‘So soon? I t er, and Sybilla, surprised at ted kindness, beamed back.

    C  imes— by ing  in public  dare, and so he buckled under.

    nesses to ts t took place in t. For  of nesses t least not at first. But one does not o be a genius to deduce from later events ook place under t evening.

    It would his:

    Isabelle  for sending the men away.

    ‘My s tree!“ And s Roland to fetcoo, for a sem.

    ttled tc ground. In ted in t and  t and t. to drive ture from tacickled.

    Isabelle kneime alone  to get it, so be rid of her.

    So talk ree. “So when?”

    ‘I don’t really ted.

    ‘But you sook t it run over  it run over the lips of her companion.

    ‘t tickles,“ Sybilla murmured.

    Isabelle did it again. Sybilla smiled, eyes , and did not stop  leaf doention to ts. Sybilla emitted a semi-nasal giggle.

    o  and beyond, Sybilla opened her yes.

    ‘You’ve stopped,“ she complained.

    ‘I ,“ said Isabelle. ”It’s just t you can’t feel it tter?“

    Sybilla reclosed her eyes.

    From t ts o a distinctly c stir until to top of  sigil Isabelle replaced tender fingers.

    Isabelle’s s once leave t t  of a flicker, she drew her hand away.

    ‘Of course,“ ster-of-fact, ”it’s a beau you need really.“

    Sybilla, roused unure, cickling,” Isabelle o explain. “It’s mucter h a beau.”

    And whe answer all ready: “Charlie.”

    By time turned, sain dis apparent in  and petticoat, regarded Cerest.

    C to tiny,  Isabelle.

    ‘  interc you say?“ S a s o understand. ”Roland and I are going to  fart Sybilla’s tired. You stay ook Roland’s arm.

    C Sybilla, registered t of ared back at ly open.

    urned back to o er and t er. ime and time again shis.

    In time o vent his feelings somehow.

    urned to Sybilla.

    t  for Isabelle t of C, escaped  oo sloo follourn until darkness imes not even t urned  tried to  o maim  as sime after time, slipping ter,  on  rengt s away from ime. Like a boar enraged by a bee, he was powerless.

    Once in a ies. For an  s everyt al erludes he more agonizing.

    C arily ime er prepared ted  to make s. er’s subtlety; t t could lave been a scandal, and a vexed Isabelle told  if t o go about to c sort of ers of minor aristocrats to ters. Personally  tell t to mind less.

    Frequent tances of forgetfulness ing. t urned aouc passion in his life: his feelings for Isabelle.

    One morning tourned ted t in tfully.  doairs to udy.

    o see aken to going out more ified his.

    ‘Darling Pa!“ S him.

    a glint of somet?”

    raveled to a corner of t lifting old him she was leaving.

    At first ood   inside eorite strikes and explosions.  in  a silent, devastated landscape, he opened his eyes.

    had he done?

    In tac one end. Isabelle o tiful green eye rickle of blood crept from ed away from her eye.

    at  urned ahe room.

    Aftering t ing and ting, tigigil it dug deep into il it ted t it could not be un completed its slow journey from o his consciousness, he cried.

    C t day and did not return il midnigy  disaster ruck. Not finding er,  to udy. One look at told , but t t t unite ther.

    In  on t to t tte against a rectangle of moonlig some point ained by extortion from a local poacimes  to emple. Eacime ty soon returned it to his lap.

    At four o’clock in t took up instead t rouser leg, pusure mark in  eady as on his shinbone he scored a single word: Isabelle.

    Isabelle by time o es and t it again, taking tairs to tcrange, e unlike  of ted tco in a stone  ime, but sy to judge people’s movements by sensing vibrations in t Isabelle ated, for t of moments, before she garden door behind her.

    became apparent to George Angelfield t Isabelle o ors. tor to come calling no s s. “tell your God o  a  you!”  of their welcome.

    A feer turned and called to break tion ablis ticemia, caused by t he flesh of his ring finger.

    C die, t understand rail of footprints in t and follo every day, starting at top of ttic bedrooms not used for years, servants’ rooms, family rooms, tudy, tc less, endless,  nig out to roam tate, irelessly for. ips were a bloody, scabby mess. he missed Isabelle.

    Cember, October, November, December, January and February, and at turned.

    Ccracing steps, o ted no visitors.

    A familiar figure stepped do stood still.

    teps, beside t, and Isabelle here.

    ared at her.

    Isabelle laugake to took somet. “And tucked it obediently under  I’d like most in the world is a very large brandy.”

    Stunned, Co to tudy. Sraigook out glasses and a bottle. So a glass and drank it in one go, seness of , t to ood tiger resounded about  oo close to an enormous carted to spin and tears sprang to  tructed. “e’ll drink a toast.” ook t fumes. “to ture!”  its unfamiliar burn.

    ‘You  even seen them, have you?“ she asked.

    he frowned.

    ‘Look.“ Isabelle turned to tudy desk, pulled t ood back so t urned  some kind of response  didn’t know w o say or do.

    ‘Oer took boto a madcap dance around til tarted to clear o a  sook o ’s you and me noand?“

    he nodded.

    ‘Good. Now, where’s Pa?“

    old e erical. tc o bed in  last s again, asked, “t are they called?”

    ‘March,“ Isabelle responded.

    But t. ord of t needed to count t s anyed by ter-in-laly so grieve.

    ‘ about Cian names?“

    ‘Adeline and Emmeline,“ said Isabelle sleepily.

    ‘And ell t?“

    But tier old bed, ten, ored to  ernal bone in her body—

    but as mere spirits of the house.

    t, too. In tc over talked in low voices.

    ‘hich one is which?“ he asked.

    ‘I don’t know.“

    One eacctle flutter of t to sleep.

    ‘t one can be Adeline,“ took a striped tea to strips from it. Sed trips into tied t of tirred, te one around t of t.

    cil turned a glad and tender face to the gardener and spoke again.

    ‘t our age!“

    ears t misted her round brown eyes.

    across t  tness of ears pressed against his own fingers.

    Beneatrembling line of the babies were dreaming.

    It e ory of Isabelle and Cernoon and evening and for part of t I  over my desk, ory retelling itself in my ears s dictation. My pages : Miss inter’s oime to time my o t and I scribbled a note in t-one of voice or a gesture seemed to be part of tive itself.

    No docer’s voice  t s  ly  under roking s, if s,  seem t perturbed, but only blinked and continued to stare indifferently.

    ‘’s his name?“ I had asked.

    ‘Sly replied.

    At last in bed, I turned out t and closed my eyes. I could still feel t s from ing  yet ready to untie itself. t  of paper, lines of my o-tention. Unmarked, pristine, it gloing. It s, notes and questions.

    In t pencil and tco tions t penetrated my dro t tattoo Cer’s name etco ion self? Or  ill ted ao tten… Isabelle and Cs, ter’s palm rose into vieter Q for question, seared into human flesh.

    As I started to sleepe my questions, to expand. t. S engulfed me, until I realized ure of trepidation and  t I e interior of tory itself. eig long in Miss inter’s story, plotting its landscape, measuring its contours and, on tiptoe at its borers, peering at teries beyond its bounds.

    GARDENSI oo early. tonous fragment of a tune c my brain. ito  before Judit t, I made myself a cup of cocoa, drank it scaldingly  and  outdoors.

    Miss inter’s garden  .  I aken at first sigo be the formal beds—

    divided one part of t and copper beecone er clematis and tems of rambling roses, and fences, neatly paneled or woven in willow.

    Folloion to anot I could not fat.  looked solid vieraigimes revealed a diagonal passageo and near-impossible to escape from. Fountains and statues t I t I   of time stock-still, looking around me in perplexity and sure self and ting out deliberately to t me.

    turning a corner, I came across ticent, bearded man ion. “Maurice is antly introducing himself.

    ‘ to get lost?“ I ed to knorick to it?“

    ‘Only time,“  looking up from  and pressing ts of ts.

    Maurice, I could tell, did not  mind, being of a solitary nature myself. After t I made a point, e direction, and I tion, for once or tc out of to see Maurice backing out of an entrance or making a sudden, divergent turn. In t eaco avoid eac any sense of constraint.

    Later t day I  to Miss inter and sold me more about t Angelfield.

    t to t seemed forever. ty: Staff came and  quickly at Angelfield, and since departures  remaining. tecy ss and laid fires like an under ime to make a meal  ime to serve it sler. Yet by time t like to admit it, t manage.

    t to be brougimes, regular bedtimes, regular bated at time, and it broke  to see urned out. t of ttern. S of all t to raise ttle girls. time at six, church on Sunday.

    But it was .

    For a start ting. Adeline  er, fists and feet flailing, yanking at er ongs. t  and merciless aggression, or Emmeline’s constant, ungrudging acceptance of it. For Emmeline, ter to stop tormenting aliated. Instead, sed for t rained doop. to raise a  Adeline. S, it made sense.

    t mealtimes, more often t, t be found. Emmeline adored eating, but ranslated itself into t be accommodated by t en, ty, fifty times a day, it struck, making urgent demands for food, and  departed and food became an irrelevance again. Emmeline’s plumpness ained by a pocket constantly full of bread and raisins, a portable feast t sake a bite from able only to repleniss before o loll by the fire or lie in a field somewhere.

    er e different. Adeline s for knees and elbo of otals. Meals  for ; like tual motion s, running on energy provided from some miraculous inner source. But t spins eternally is a myticed in ty plate   food off a plate, like normal children?

    Per ter if sead of t t no amount of nursery food and strict routine could ree. S  to see it; sried not to see it for a long time, but in t it. trange all t into ts.

    talked, for instance. Sco be moving nineteen to t fragments of t. “Speak up!” selling t s  for ot be silly,” sold Dig opping t going.”

    tion came to er. For once boto stay in t of ted clearing in  a fragment of topped. Sounds fleennis balls in some game; sounds t made tance you’d  it tter of ordinary c  sank. It  s used to . t talk properly.

    tanding froze imes ion opened to anotelpiece c a little bird out of a cage to flap a mec before reentering t c tche bell, wings up, wings down, wings up, wings down.

    ticularly cold, particularly in t  t inanimate moving objects. But it froze to t ly t ed.

    t realize t I am alive, s. t kno anyone is alive but themselves.

    It is a tribute to  s find trous. Instead, s sorry for them.

    be. how very lonely.

    And surned from the doorway and shuffled away.

    From t day on tations. Regular mealtimes and bat of t one job noo keep the girls safe.

    turning it over in  sood oget o be t in t ones, seem like to t seem like range   time, t meant people s of tees. t’s o tees.

    Normal? No. t and , sural.

    Of course all amputees er tate of te, take lovers, marry. tormented by teness trive to be part of a pair. t from anyone else in t. And she-dig.

    t a couple in traditional sense. t married; t even lovers. A dozen or fifteen years older t old enougo be e, but ed for a  time t, sed to marry anyone. ed to marry, but someea ting at tcable to eat  of t of seeking t more imagination t o leap tations; t  t and most respectful kind. In anoture,  o be   t, one can imagine t some Friday niger ter t pie and custard,  aken  o one or ot t never entered ten do, and enjoyed tender loyalty t as t ever living tself.

    o t knoing, once t (and t, for t many of took to leaving off t letters of o save time. t tters seemed more te: Did t say ely, even, to sign o the-dig.

    e  greraigop of s reac  brigion s cycles. In tables of figures, calculating t time for everyt-grandfat, and ained the knowledge.

    Jo Angelfield. In t-grandfated out a box  to be eful, aken tings a feo loook o ted to be pyramids, cones, top s. to serial, tient, meticulous delicacy of a lacemaker. ed no animals, no  for  you sa pleased rictly geometric or bafflingly, bulgingly abstract.

    By time of  years, topiary garden  mattered. o be finised o be in “ime, fifty, a o maturity.

    At o ter,  y miles aake on t o be opiary y from t be oto s  the grooves. he was home.

    In ter George Angelfield lost aff diminisically, Joayed on. Gardeners left and  replaced. ill a young man , ook no interest;  to see o trust   Angelfield. opiary garden, putting o t began to fade,  need to reflect t trees rees t -grandfated, t tines and motions of  tions of oo deeply knoo require t. ake it for granted. Like rees, ed to Angelfield.

    o  ravaged? Great gass. tated, tops lying at t. t balance of t, top s co and left in tatters. ared at till green, still fres reion, t to come.

    Stunned, rembling t seemed to pass from  to o t, ried to understand  from t  ruction? But orm is it t strikes in silence?

    No. Someone his.

    turning a corner  to the saw.

    come in for lunc to find opiary garden so h a new urgency.

    ender care to tc ea, s and , and ared, unseeing, into space. it a ed sips of to  last   ears spring up.

    ‘Oh Dig! I know. I know.“

    he shaking of her body.

    t appear t afternoon, and t go to find turned up in till in e and  t of t, t as the drawing room clock.

    Before s to bed ts on t touc you.”

    And till not expecting to be ? O? You .”

    S touc was Emmeline.

    Startled, tears and stared.

    the-dig sad.”

    ‘Yes,“ the Missus whispered. ”e are sad.“

    t  malice. it guilt. It isfaction at ed sometly identified it. Sears. S no was sadness.

    t doairs. t ion, and it er t. as it possible t one day t understand?

    So tc in to rejoin John in his despair.

    t night I had a dream.

    alking in Miss inter’s garden, I met my sister.

    Radiant, s golden o embrace me, and I  .

    aking, I curled into a ball until tinging  on my torso had subsided.

    MERRILY AND tORMiss inter’s ed, and ts inants so solitary, t I  o  t of t a glimpse of a tall, dark-o the bell.

    I saen feet from t porcires on gravel. I stood still, retreated inside myself. to anyone rouble to look, I  o see not is usually  see me.

    o s of inguisillness. o  up teps to ring the bell.

    I he house.

    Later t day, Miss inter told me tory of Merrily and tor.

    As tate. tanding of property, and so t  al in tried kitc lock doors muc inside. to anytasty in try, slept for an airs if t ook saucepans and spoons ao scare birds in the fields.

    t upset about it. For every accusation made, t t time in anotant place; at least t least t t came about t all t stories s stories; no old  its gs. And t it. t rig t o be a disinclination to approacs as t mighere.

    But eventually t talk, and ted. Anger pulled t of s made t understand

    it  and sed even more. For a time tayed to cacle of turned their backs and walked off.

    o be done, and tting turn, “Big  ougo be alloo run riot t’s not rig to be done.” And t quiet over tes of potato and meat and shing would be done.

    Until t of tor.

    ts in one of ttages. ted for  er of a  tte. all bro and o put  and tickle  of o make ried not to laugo tease  sed to laugually she always did.

    S  for t laugy color t oo dark to be blond,  s laug iful t   moon ciced e teeteeto matctle pink tongue t ten’s. And t beautiful, rippling, unstoppable music t came gurgling out of  like spring-er from an underground stream. It . And , and   ion of ickled her and made her laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

    Anyer,  to t tle clotor.

    to  it  c seeming very dear) in order to mark tance of t c for anottle vest, anottle c oo, and ined for tiful black perambulator. Its wlessness.

    to fields at t kno from beor.

    Babies make a lot of  in tting t and taking it in. From tcs in t an eye on tor outdoors in tes it seemed sdoors to adjust tuck in an extra blanket or simply sing.

    Merrily  ted to tor. Emmeline and Adeline ted.

    Merrily emerged one day from under t of  ted abruptly. o  tumbled into tipping collars and socks onto tourned  and rig believe  and rig and rig and rigime  out a sc rose into t could rend it in two.

    Mr. Griffin looked up from able plot and came to t door old Granny Stokes fro tc onto ounded, t Merrily, ruck, as time’s supply of words.

    Eventually s. “My baby’s gone.”

    And once t to action. Mr. Griffin jumped over took Merrily by to t of okes disappeared from er ed in t garden, calling out for help.

    And t is it? ’s happened?”

    ‘taken! From tor!“

    ‘You t  way.“

    ‘Run and fetch her husband, somebody.“

    All tion at t of the house.

    At t. Merrily’s ed tranquilly in turned soil, Emmeline caressed t ecstasy and Adeline kicked  of t t thing moving.

    t. It he voom.

    tor along t art t appeared, and also t along very uneven ground. tly banked, ed t an angle. t all four urned earter to tles and brambles snagged in t  t going after t ty yards. But t. t to get t pram  all trengto feel t at all. tearing tles a on t, Emmeline still crooning o it, giving it a surreptitious stroke ime to time, kissing it.

    At last to t. But instead of making directly for it turned toed to play. o top of t slope igable energy, t it in position. ted out t it on to to te-faced. At a signal from  powerful push she could manage.

    At first t slo. But te sun as turned. Faster and faster, until t even a blur. teeper, and to so side and ten to take off.

    A noise filled the air.

    ‘Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!“

    Adeline, sled doling her senses.

    Suddenly it o happen.

    One of truck against a piece of rock sticking out from tal screec stone, and t doo t traced a serene curve against til t o snatc, and ter tion reverberating in t.

    Emmeline ran doill turning, slos urgency lost.

    A ended from ty of ted at a strange angle on tony ground. On tains and tle scratches.

    Emmeline knelt. Inside ty of the carriage, all was dark.

    But t. A pair of green eyes staring back.

    ‘Voom!“ she said, and she smiled.

    t ime to go home.

    Aside from tory itself, Miss inter spoke little in our meetings. In to say “ sempered edge to ion, and s expect me to, so to an end. I ly a minute early, take my place in take my notebook out of my bag. t all, sory  governed by times Miss inter il sural break at t ion of y about it t akable. It e space at ter. I  note in my book, close togetake my leave. At otimes, tedly, in times in tence, and I o see e face tigo a mask of endurance. “Is t time I sao go. elling me tory of Merrily and tor, I put my pencil and notebook into my bag and, standing up, said, “I shall be going away for a few days.”

    ‘No.“ She was severe.

    ‘I’m afraid I must. I ing to be ially, and I’ve been  ay.“

    ‘Maurice can take you to too buy wever you need.“

    ‘I need my books…“

    Sured at her library shelves.

    I s I really o go.”

    ‘Miss Lea, you seem to t  let me remind you, I am a busy   to alk of going a t be t.“

    I bit my lip and for a moment felt co I rallied. “Remember our agreement? true to do some checking.”

    Sated. “You don’t believe me?”

    I ignored ion. “true t I could check. You gave me your word.”

    ig she concurred.

    ‘You may leave on Monday. take you to tation.“

    I ing up tory of Merrily and tor   time for dinner, so I errupted my work before.

    ‘ould you come to ton is h you.“

    As I entered t to . I am no good at so decide not to offer me  it left us at a loss to find some oto start.

    ‘You are Miss inter’s biograpand?“

    ‘I’m not sure.“

    ‘Not sure?“

    ‘If selling me trut an amanuensis.“

    ‘ matter?“

    ‘to wo you.

    I didn’t kno I kneinent, so I didn’t ans.

    ‘You are Miss inter’s doctor, I suppose?“ I am.

    ‘o see me?“

    ‘It is Miss inter, actually, o make sure you are fully ae of h.“ I see.

    itific clarity, o ion. In a fe  and least effectively masked by tioned a number of otions so kill  t to get t. And  out, as far as o ration to er, , s.

    ‘ion came to an end.

    ‘I can’t tell you. Anoter is made of strong stuff. And since you ently on the brink of breaking a confidence.

    ‘Since I have been here… ?“

    me and seemed to o be managing a little better. S is tic qualities of storytelling.”

    I  sure o make of ts, tor inuing. “I understand you are going away…”

    ‘Is t o me?“

    ‘It is only t ss you to understand t time is of the essence.“

    ‘You can let  I understand.“

    Our intervieale… ? I don’t suppose…”

    In  a flasience of the reader.

    ‘S it,“ I said. ”t be at liberty to tell you.“

    remor ran from o the corner of his nose.

    ‘Good day, Miss Lea.“

    ‘Good day, Doctor.“

 DR. AND MRS. MAUDSLEY

    On my last day Miss inter told me about Dr. and Mrs. Maudsley.

    Leaving gates open and o ots pram e anot t t o be none ts temporary disappearance . t out of ion was called for.

    t feel able to approacly about it. tood t trange at to go t  encouraged to keep tance is o say. Instead, t tor ly may or may not  a ne time.

    Dr. Maudsley  young, yet ties  tall, nor really very muscular, but ality, of vigor about o stride along at a great pace,  effort. er to finding alking into turning to find ing  of keeping up. tc mental liveliness. You could  but quick, y for finding t  person at t time. You could see it in , intent, rong, neat eyebrows above.

    Maudsley ’s no bad tor. ep on t tients art feeling better already. And not least, tonic in ’s  made a difference to ients lived or died, and tered hey lived.

    Dr. Maudsley  love of intellectual activity. Illness o  rest until . Patients got used to urning up at t t t puzzling over toms, to ask one more question. And once  a diagnosis, treatment to resolve. ed t of all treatments, but  kept coming back to somet from a different angle, constantly casting about for tiny fragment of kno o get rid of t but to understand t in an entirely neelligent and amiable, ionally good doctor and a better t.

    tion of village men included t like to be left out of anytrio and listened attentively as ted tale. tes left open,  on to ter some minutes at tory: t in tor.

    ‘the younger Fred Jameson said finally.

    ‘Out of control,“ added the older Fred Jameson.

    ‘And anding to one side, il no.

    Mr. Bonner took ling breat it seems to me t rig got apped imes.

    All t their shoes.

    ‘Leave it or. ”I’ll speak to the family.“

    And t. t. It o tor, the village elder, now.

    to t tor actually did o his wife.

    ‘I doubt t any ,“ selling tory. ”You kno  ill, t be told not to do it again. Poor Mary.“ And sed urned o her husband.

    Mrs. Maudsley tractive tily, and   a trace of gray in it yle of sucy t only a true beauty  be made plain by it. hen she moved, her form had a rounded, womanly grace.

    tor kne too long for it to make any difference to him.

    ‘t tally retarded.“

    ‘Surely not!“

    ‘It’s  least.“

    S. “ is just old-fasion is more understanding.”

    tor  atistically unlikely t tal abnormality in t out until  did not surprise  o believe ill of any-me, ake for granted t the rumor was ill-founded gossip.

    ‘I’m sure you are rig meant rying to get o believe only rue; so t could admit no difference betrue and w was good.

    ‘ hen?“ she asked him.

    ‘Go and see t of a , but o see me if I go.“

    Mrs. Maudsley nodded, . “ about t do you know of her?”

    ‘Very little.“

    And tor continued to tinued er a quarter of an or said, “Per go, t sooner see anot do you say?”

    And so ter Mrs. Maudsley arrived at t t door. Astoniso get no anse to say so tc in. No one able, broarting to collapse upon t to a sink piled y plates, and t inside you could ell day from nigy  told o knoigortoises off on  from room to room looking for Isabelle, but on taking in tness t lurked everywhere.

    tired easily, and s manage tairs very  s, or meant to clean t, and to be , sly concentrated on feeding t mucy, and it y, and  stayed udy,  dropped to to be, and it soon occurred to  it o c out once a year to do it once a week.

    Mrs. Maudsley didn’t like ains, and sig tarnis at tairs and t music t tered all over t doomatically to retrieve a playing card, t   a loss, so great  t covering it and, being a fastidious,  it doorn beto end tact bety, faintly sticky playing card, and o put t  t one. Eventually, ible s on t of the room.

    tter. It y, certainly, and t  t even in t  tic family, s bed. tucked into a dark corner bets of s  a flea-ridden blanket and a filt first sook it for a cat’s bed. tted t out. It was Jane Eyre.

    From to ture o facilitate turned to face a  s place under t be inctly. On tained blackened, brittle stems, and around it a neat circle of papery petals like aso up; it crumbled, leaving a nasty yelloain between e-gloved fingers.

    Mrs. Maudsley seemed to slump doo tool.

    tor’s  a bad o believe t God actually did cen to everytoo taken up ing out to feeling in o notice any ot  all t realizing it.

    ool, staring into space? t keep topped up. No ent of to o  racted, absent fas she piano.

    t resounded in t, most un-pianolike noise imaginable. t because ted, unplayed and untuned, for many years. It ion of trument’s strings antly accompanied by anot ed,  of a screec of a cat .

    Mrs. Maudsley  of . On ared at tood up, o  s moment to register t s alone.

    t figure in we—

 Poor Mrs. Maudsley.

    S time to appreciate t te-robed figure  force toact o the floor.

    it ucked inside crap, s a drop of life left in tle puffs of dust t  wly back down.

    til to collect eggs, o glance in at t seen a dark shape before.

    te.

    As I transcribed from memory, Miss inter’s voice seemed to fill my room y   engraved itself on my memory and  t, we,” s .

    I ory, and so it took me a moment to re-focus my eye from tor’s ory to toryteller er’s normal pallor o an ugly yelloint, and  must be said, seemed at present to be girding itself against some invisible assault. trembling around  s of losing truggle to  a repressed grimace o he day.

    I rose from my c  I ougo do.

    ‘Miss inter,“ I exclaimed ever is it?“

    ‘My  I  t to speak ruggle to measure  as I  of running to find Juditer regained control. t sloremors in ill pale as deat me.

    ‘Better…“ she said weakly.

    Slourned to my chair.

    ‘I t you said somet a wolf,“ I began.

    ‘Yes. t black beast t gna my bones ime, because ed te pills on table beside  t last forever. It’s nearly t my neck. By  eetil one, ablet and o return to ces earlier every day. But I cannot take my tablets five minutes earlier. t stays the same.“

    ‘But surely tor—“

    ‘Of course. Once a en days, s te enoug  to be to kill me, you see. And so  must be t finishes me off.“

    S me, very matter-of-fact, ted.

    ‘ter. If I ed to, I could put an end to it myself.  feel sorry for me. I o do.“

    I nodded. “All right.”

    ‘So. Let’s get on and do them, shall we? here were we?“

    ‘tor’s he violin.“

    And inued our work.

    C used to dealing h problems.

    y of ttic rooms—but   didn’t notice ter penetration got too bad  closed up a room and started using anoter all. One ively maintained t tion .  at .

    Still, a doctor’s ly dead in t ignore. If it  an outsider. t ter. Someto be done, altion of  somet be, and ared, stricken, at tor’s upid, but  t. Calamity was coming.

    t Joor and in due course tor arrived. And it seemed for a ions of disaster   tor’s  badly  at all, barely even concussed. Sot of brandy, accepted tea and after a s  was a woman,” se.”

    ‘Nonsense,“ said t once reassuring and dismissive. ”te in the house.“

    tears glittered in Mrs. Maudsley’s bro s. “Yes, a he piano and rose up and—”

    ‘Did you see her for long?“ Dr. Maudsley asked.

    ‘No, it  for a moment.“

    ‘ell t cannot be,“ terrupted ic it e. You must .“

    And t time, Jo ted.”

    For a moment t t emple, but before anyone ime to respond to topknot  and iful, were wild.

    ‘Could tor asked his wife.

    Mrs. Maudsley measured Isabelle against ture in e o t a person’s memory? S match in her memory, decided.

    ‘Yes. the person.“

    the-dig avoided exchanging a glance.

    From t moment, forgetting  or attended to.  ion after question. o ansled, but urns arcient, nonsensical—ened carefully, nodding as es in or’s pad. taking  to measure ed s and scars t marked the inside of her forearm.

    ‘Does shis herself?“

    Reluctantly , tor pressed o a worried line.

    ‘May I urning to C  tor took  of the room.

    In tor’s ed and pretended not to pay any attention to t came from t of voices but of a single voice, calm and measured.  stopped, or. time, and ations over and over before tor came out, looking serious and s ence, but tor only he door closed behind him.

    ‘I’ll make ts old transport to me. ill t?“

    Baffled, sor’s o leave.

    At to t to a brougted o ttled obediently in t, never even looked out as trotted slooes.

    toes in the drive.

    Cood on teps c greoy is being taken a quite, not yet—t it is really happening.

    From tcing for tion to dawn.

    tes and disappeared tinued to stare at tes for three, four, five seconds.

    tcrembling, t revealed ongue, t, strings of spittle across a dark cavity. Mesmerized cing for to emerge from t t ready to come. For long seconds it built up, accumulating inside il -up sound. At long last o eps and t  tine belloing, but a damp, nasal snort.

    toe circles for a moment, turned impassively to tigurned ao do  to Ctempted to persuade o t o ed schoolboy.

    And t .

    t ? tated endnote to ter’s mot  Miss inter didn’t ties as a parent; indeed t from  andable; from  maternal of  ions hers?

    I closed my book, slid my pencil into tood up.

    ‘I’ll be ahursday.“

    And I left h her wolf.

 DICKENS’S STUDY

    I finising up t day’s notes. All dozen pencils  noed to turn times get to t and dangle in a single drop all to t tonigired, and t breaking under t.

    I t about tory. I o tor and  of motives, but I suspected tervention in to no good.

    t ot of t t speak properly; t understand ot t I didn’t kno toryteller t. In telling ale, Miss inter  t illuminates everyt itself. S at t of tive. Sly s perplexed me  be t o distance ory in this way?

    If I o ask  it, I kne one or tails of tory, and time to time s  to, s meeting. “No cing. No looking aions.”

    I reconciled myself to remaining curious for a long time, and yet, as it  very evening t cast a certain illumination on tter.

    I idied my desk and ting about my packing  to find Judithe corridor.

    ‘Miss inter o see .“

    te translation of a more abrupt Fetc.

    I finis doo the library.

    Miss inter ed in ion and t othe room was in darkness.

    ‘ould you like me to put some lighe doorway.

    ‘No.“ antly to my ears, and so I oers ars, ed in the mirrors.

    from t Miss inter racted. In silence I sat in my place, lulled by taring into t sky reflected in ter of an ed, and I ed.

    then she spoke.

    ‘ picture of Dickens in udy? It’s by a man called Buss, I believe. I’ve a reproduction of it some for you. Anyure, . ers from ing in ted beed do on t? ted er  be as real as  are sketc  of a line o a gly nothingness.

    ‘ure no be  so  it seems to be an image of tudy door on t myself aion. For nearly sixty years I y on t exist. I o s and bats. I o follos of quills as te love letters, rains ransported me across sea and sand; centuries and continents  my bidding. I y and nessed ty of t so lo t  my breatheir dreams.

    ‘My study ters ing to be ten. Imaginary people, anxious for a life,  my sleeve, crying, ’Me next! Go on! My turn!‘ I o select. And once I  for ten montil I come to tory, and tarts up again.

    ‘And every so often, ting years, I ed my  ter, or in t pause for t after a deatimes just searc eady green-eyed gaze. I knoly o see ime so catcen so speak to me, but for decades soo far ao be  my gaze and pretend I  seen , I taken in.

    ‘People ’s because of arted a nees after finis, it is because to look up from my desk ing her eye.

    ‘tly ting in tudy  I ten, ter, tle in my tention  t nearer ing.

    ‘t of my final book. I e t sentence, placed t full stop. I kne ’s just t. ’It old  oo long ago, I en.‘ tions.

    ‘’But I  forgotten,‘ sable w. I do remember.“

    t vibration in till. I turned from my stargazing to Miss inter. aring at a spot in t t very moment seeing the copper hair.

    ‘the girl is you.“

    ‘Me?“ Miss inter’s eyes turned slo cion. ”No, s me. Sated. ”So be. t cing a long, long time ago.

    o an end t of thing.“

    ‘But your career… tories…“

    ‘s. It fills a void.“

    t in silence and cime to time Miss inter rubbed absently at her palm.

    ‘Your essay on Jules and Edmond Landier,“ ser a time.

    I turned reluctantly to her.

    ‘ made you c? You must icular interest? Some personal attraction?“

    I shing special, no.”

    And t tillness of tars and the fire.

    It must er, w sime.

    ‘Margaret.“ I believe it  time s name. ”omorrow…“

    ‘Yes?“

    ‘You  you?“

    It  ell rembling in  of fatigue or illness, but it seemed to me, in t before I ans Miss inter was afraid.

    t morning Maurice drove me to tation and I took train south.

 THE ALMANACS

    o begin my researc at ed by t of boredom or anxiety or fear o to flick tes and annotations. Bet lives ally neutral lines. It , and ell you o tell you o ter t at nig all.  , t moved me so in tations of t t t nohey were dead.

    Reading t a stirring in me. In me, but not of me. Reading ts, t of me t her side woke and caressed me.

    I never explained to anyone  my fatook note of my preference, and  auction, o get t  all trious dead of try, going back many generations, erlife tranquilly on th me for company.

    It , t I turned ter’s grandfat a baronet, nor a minister, nor a bis still, ocratic origins—title, but a feions earlier t in title y anoty side. tended to folloitles, but still, tion  an entry, so e of birt Angelfield o Matracing er years, I found an amendment a decade later: one son, Cer, Isabelle. After a little more page-turning, I found confirmation of George Angelfield’s death and, by looking her up under March, Roland, Isabelle’s marriage.

    For a moment it amused me to t I o Yorkso er’s story,   tarted t did it prove, trail? Only t suced. to say t Miss inter  found ted could look t s  of names and dates and embroidered a story around to entertain herself?

    Alongside trail for Isabelle came to an end. trees, blood mixed by marriage passed from one generation to t, making an ever- of connections. titles, on to one man, and it  to . On eacitle line o fall ion. t . And, t  said, till mig string of tragedies o occur. But after a certain number of brancree, t of to tion of so restore to prominence. ts limits. So it  a lord)  ; so t ocean of ordinary people, oo insignificant to be erity.

    Cretcself— just—to include ing its sion .  Angelfield.  married.  dead. As far as tion .

    I took out one volume after anotcome I t, t. But eacill Cill of Angelfield, still unmarried. I t again about er old me about Cer, and bit my lip t w his long bachelorhood signified.

    And te forties, I found a surprise. e of birtrange abbreviation—Ldd—t I iced before.

    I turned to table of abbreviations.

    Ldd: legal decree of decease.

    turning back to Cry, I stared at it for a long time, froermark of tself tion of tery.

    In to be dead. As far as I understood, a legal decree of decease ain time ance, o assume t  a person o be lost  trace for seven years before   any time in t period.  not even be dead at all, but only gone, lost or  didn’t necessarily mean dead in person.  kind of life , I  could end in tisfactory way? Ldd.

    I closed t it back in its position on t doo to make cocoa.

    ‘ do you kno to take to o my fatood over tove.

    ‘No more the answer.

    tomer cards. “to ask. Retired professor of la  you e? You migs me to  Justitiae Naturalis Principia for  time.”

    back to to find out  Roland Marc and o t ory section to follo raits,  of fasimer’s Englisraiture contained tion of an early portrait by Leitled Roland, nepist. It is an odd to look into t quite yet a man, in searcures of an old es I studied ures,  of his head.

    ting my time. ere I to look all day and all nig find a trace of twins o hered.

 IN THE ARCHIVES OF THE BANBURY HERALD

    t day I took train to Banbury, to the Banbury herald.

    It o someone  to me, o be so ially a large,  cupboard.

    ‘A  Angelfield,“ I explained briefly, ”about sixty years ago.“

    t period were shelved.

    ‘I’ll lift the boxes for you, shall I?“

    ‘And too, from about forty years ago, but I’m not sure which year.“

    ‘Books pages? Didn’t knorieved anot of boxes and placed t one on a long table under a brig.

    ‘t me to it.

    t. It  uncommon for people to stockpile fuel at time, and it  o take  tal. to be abroad. (Believed to be ... I e of tes—anoto elapse before ts on tectural significance of t ed t it s current state.

    I copied out tory and scanned es but, finding not turned to ther boxes.

    ‘tell me trut er for ty years ago. And sten his words.

    trace of tervie could properly be called a books page. terary items at all  like to read…” by a revieo rest on Miss inter’s name in ter’s novels; ic and just, if unsc it  s t.

    I closed t ne neatly in its box.

    t ion. A device to snare me. ts o dra o be expected. Per ion of tence of George and Mat  least  .

    Putting my  and gloves on, I left tepped out into treet.

    As I er streets looking for a cafe, I remembered tter Miss inter  me. I remembered t, and ers of my rooms under t t  of ion. I sed it. S soryteller. A fabulist. A liar. And t had so moved me—

    tell me truttered by a man w even real.

    I  a loss to explain to myself tterness of my disappointment.

 RUIN

    From Banbury I took a bus. “Angelfield?” said to Angelfield. Not yet, any be different .”

    ‘Are then?“

    ‘Some old ruin to be a fancy el. t run a bus taff, but for no you can do is get off at t a mile, I reckon.“

    t mucreet reet. I  a dozen cottages, built in pairs. inctive feature stood out—a large yeree, a c for t part eacs neatly embroidered tcs rained artistry in its bricks neighbor like a mirror image.

    ttage  onto fields t ly defined udded rees. Farto my map,  as suc t tered for traffic, eit I sail I passed t cottage and came to a combined post office and general store.

    to topped at t-box. Small and fair, sruggling to stick stamps onto envelopes  dropping tucked under o put  taco a post at t to take er’s  sed. “I can do it! I can do it!” Sood on tiptoe and stretcestations, tossed to it and carried it across the road.

    ‘I told you so!“

    Boturned and launco a dased to a  ically so t t so close. I stooped to pick up t out too take it,  to step foruck  to bar her way and called, “Mum!”

    tcbox  , tom. Let ake it.” took t looking at me. “Say trained voices, turned time ted er up to reac me again, eyeing my camera y.

    Angelfield  a place where I could be invisible.

    Surned to follo totages.

    I chem go.

    ttaccion at random, made unpredictable celepaty. to tly familiar. I’d o c, fearful t t turn and catcaring, I pulled myself away.

    After a feo viees t only closed but o ts of ivy t  of te metales, a pale stone arc s sides extending into terate reader t I am, I couldn’t resist; I clambered t grass to read it. But it ice. truction company  beneat, tains tly darker but not mucure. It ing, but t by months of sunshine.

    Preparing to o find a eps e set in a  a latco fasten it. In an instant I was inside.

    t no erspersed  led in a long curve to a small stone and flint ce, trees and s obscured t busing for space and at t grass and o hey could find.

    I o in Victorian times, it retained ty of its medieval origins. Small and neat, its spire indicated tion of  trying to pierce a . tioned at te and toa t ep, til at last tone t racks.

    t at an a  at all clear   ougo meet its arriving visitors face-on, but at t minute couldn’t repress to turn back and gaze upon t terraces. tor  not by a  by a cold shoulder.

    ts of its appearance. trical construction. t bays, eacories ood out from tall and er. In t of t, no ts neig and rigrade tried to e arcecture toget ting stone, a partial bay, an aoo muc; it disappeared only to start up again tacle. Above trade tourrets and cacks, the color of honey.

    A ruin? Most of tone looked as clean and as fres e stoneurrets looked a little rading  all t  t, birds flying around its to, I y at all in imagining ted.

    t my glasses on, and realized.

    ty of glass and tted or burned a diving do. t  a  only a shell.

    I took my glasses off again and ted to an intact Elizabet one get a sense of brooding menace if ted indigo and t against today’s cloudless blue tself.

    A barrier stretctaco it ice. Danger. Keep Out. Noticing a join in tions  lodged togeted a panel, slipped inside and pulled it to behind me.

    Skirting to t of t and second bays, six broad, loeps led up to a paneled double door. teps als, on  cats carved out of some dark, poliserial. tions of tomy , running my fingers over one, I ed fur, artled by tone.

    It   fire-staining. Percall enougo peer inside.  I sa to bloom in my c. to all, in t of a room. t my parents’  Miss inter’s are all very different, tain elements, elements t remain constant in all places and for all people. Even a temporary encampment o protect it from ts, space for a person to enter, move about, and leave, and somet permits you to distinguisside. .

    Beams  one end only so t t to rest on tinguiserial t filled to ts   seeds; snoer branc. Like a pattern on o a dark tunnel. Four tall ill intact, but instead of seeing a ceiling, I say space before anot tunnel was lighe sky.

    Not even a g could survive here.

    It  impossible to t once tings. C up ed by t  been, this room? A drawing room, a music room, a dining room?

    I squinted at tuff  of tuff t  my eye. I aken it at first for a  it  t appeared to taco t regular intervals, to s in ttac rig, tions ill present.

    Knoingled in my spine.

    ture and ure was a library.

    In a moment I he glassless window.

    Carefully I made my esting my footing at every step. I peered into corners and dark crevices, but t t I ed any—tions. But I  been able to help looking.

    For a fees I concentrated on my pograpook ss of timber planks t used to s massive frame.

    trying to get t picture of t stone fireplace, I , leaning sliged my sligbeat. as it somet? ed deep in t of rubble beneat? But no. It o to step through.

    I side. taircase, being made of stone, act. A broad srades nos arcecture o a s its base. A kind of fancy upside-dorophe.

    taircase led to a gallery t must once ire rance o one side to tone floor belo complete. tiges of a ained but intact; a floor; doors even. It  part of t appeared to ruction. It looked like somewhere you could live.

    I took a feures and testing eac before sing my he corridor.

    t door opened onto a s fresdoors air.

    I pulled termined not to be unnerved by tc all time, I came to the second door.

    I turned t the door swing open.

    t!

    My sister!

    Almost I took a step toward her.

    Almost.

    t and tarniss t looked like ink.

    I looked doo t to step onto. ty feet onto one flags.

    I kneill my  continued its frenzy. I raised my eyes again, and te-faced ain figure trembling inside the old frame.

    Sood, oo do ep foro take it. And  not be t solution, all told, to do t and at last rejoin her?

    and tc for me?

    ‘No,“ I ill her arm beckoned me. ”I’m sorry.“ her arm slowly fell.

    took a pograph of me.

    I . I knoried.

    I stood er  I  in tory anymore. s indoor rain and trick mirror  its interest for me.

    I o take pograp even t. I o tore. I elepaxi. Go to tation and from there home.

    All te. For time being, I ed to stay like t t to ing for tears to pass and my  to calm itself.

    I ed.

    to to turn of its own accord.

 THE FRIENDLY GIANT

    I ran. I jumped over tairs t a time, lost my footing and lunged at t. I grasped at a umbled, saved myself and lurc at my clotimes as my feet scrabbled tritus of the broken house.

    At last, inevitably, I craso the ground, and a wild cry escaped my lips.

    ‘Oartle you? Oh dear.“

    I stared back the archway.

    Leaning over t ton or monster of my imaginings, but a giant. airs, stepped daintily and unconcernedly to stand over me most concern on his face.

    ‘Oh my goodness.“

    -four or -five, and  to shrink around him.

    ‘I never meant… You see, I only t… Because you’d been time, and… But t doesn’t matter no?“

    I felt reduced to t for all  dimensions, too,  oo plump for ly around acles. transparency.

    I must oo, per by my side and took my .

    ‘My, my, t e a tumble you took. If only I’d… I s high. hmm.“

    My singing. I reaco investigate a tear in trousers, and my fingers came away bloodied.

    ‘Dear, o’s t? Is it broken? Can you move it?“ I , and ture of relief.

    ‘tay t get te.“ And off .  danced delicately in and out of tly up tairs, o te footwork going on below.

    I took a deep breated.

    ‘I’ve put ttle on,“ urned. It -aid kit e , and ook out an antiseptic lotion and some gauze.

    ‘I al  in t old place one of t for years. Better safe tinging pad against my cut s’s be brave, shall we?“

    ‘Do you ricity here?“ I asked. I was feeling bewildered.

    ‘Electricity? But it’s a ruin.“ ared at me, astonision, as t  my reason.

    ‘It’s just t I t you said you’d put ttle on.“

    ‘Oove. I used to “—urned ea from a t very nice, is it? No sting very badly?“

    ‘Only a bit.“

    ‘Good girl. Quite a tumble t ea—lemon and sugar all right? No milk, I’m afraid. No fridge.“

    ‘Lemon will be lovely.“

    ‘Rig’s make you comfortable. topped, so tea outdoors?“  to t t of tc. ited, to get to my feet.

    ‘Don’t move!“

    t danced back to do myself being raised into tside.  me sides I had admired an hour earlier.

    ‘You  tea!“ and  back into tairs and disappeared into trance of third room.

    ‘Comfy?“

    I nodded.

    ‘Marvelous.“   us introduce ourselves. My name is Love. Aurelius Alp me expectantly.

    ‘Margaret Lea.“

    ‘Margaret.“ e splendid. No.“

    Bet icky slice of cake, cut generously. I bit into it. It  cake for a cold day: spiced  but . tranger strained tea into dainty cook a blue velvet pouc pocket,  ed A in tylized angel ornamenting took it, stirred my tea and passed it back to him.

    e and drank, my  sat on t, ed kittenis girte in silence, neatly and ration. c, too, anxious t I se the food.

    ‘t was lovely,“ I said. ”hink?“

    ts  ten feet, and to converse rical air, as t o tock-still, regarded us curiously. Unblinking, alert, nostrils tcted it, it made no attempt to run but decided, on trary, not to be afraid.

    My companion  and folded it into four. “You liked it to me by Mrs. Love. I’ve been making ted no  it  to be.”

    ‘I see.“ t sure I did see. as Mrs. Love  mean hough: he had loved her and she was dead. ”I’m sorry,“ I said.

    ed my condolences ened. “But it’s a fitting memorial, don’t you the cake, I mean?”

    ‘Certainly. as it long ago? t you lost her?“

    . “Nearly ty years. t seems more. Or less. Depending on  it.”

    I nodded. I he wiser.

    For a fes  in silence. I looked out to t t across the grassy park.

    tinging in my leg ter.

    ‘tell me…“ tranger began, and I suspected o pluck up to ask ion. ”Do you her?“

    I felt a start of surprise. People ice me for long enougo ask me personal questions.

    ‘Do you mind? Forgive me for asking, but—  it? Families are a matter of… of… But if you’d rat— I am sorry.“

    ‘It’s all rig mind.“ And actually I didn’t. Per ting, but it seemed t anyt say about myself o tever I said to ion. ”Yes, I do her.“

    ‘A motense expression came into  could be pleasanter to  ation to say more.

    ‘You don’t hen?“ I asked.

    Aurelius’s face ted momentarily. “Sadly—I ed— Or a fato t. Even broters. Anyone o me. As a co pretend. I made up an entire family. Generations of it! You’d o laug in  as to an actual motual, kno . It’s a question of kno one day— For it’s not out of tion, is it? And so I have never given up hope.“

    ‘Ah.“

    ‘It’s a very sorry t ed to be casual, but . ”I so her.“

    ‘Mr. Love—“

    ‘Aurelius, please.“

    ‘Aurelius. You kno al as you might suppose.“

    ‘A seemed to  revelation to  me. ”Squabbles?“

    ‘Not exactly.“

    andings?”

    I shook my head.

    ‘orse?“ upefied.   be in the woods and finally, in my eyes.

    ‘Secrets,“ I told him.

    ‘Secrets!“ o perfect circles. Baffled, tempt to fat last. ”I don’t knole about families. My ignorance is vaster t ts. I’m sure you are rigo feel as you do.“

    Compassion warmed ly folded we handkerchief.

    ‘I’m sorry,“ I said. ”It must be delayed shock.“

    ‘I expect so.“

    oo see a se: t of t leaped ligo trees.

    ‘I t you old  ton.“

    ‘A skeleton! Me! A skeleton!“ ed, and ire body seemed to sh.

    ‘But you turned out to be a giant.“

    ‘Quite so! A giant.“ er from , you knohey say.“

    I kno said, I sa  my g alking about.

    ‘?“

    ‘No,“  even t.“

    e sat in silence for a moment, eacemplating gs of our own.

    ‘It’s getting chilly,“ I remarked.

    ‘Leg feeling all right?“

    ‘I t’s back and tried my ’s mucter now.“

    ‘onderful. onderful.“

    Our voices ening light.

    ‘ly was Mrs. Love?“

    ‘took me in. Shing, really.“

    I nodded.

    tually. I ougo try for some pos at t quite disappears. tea.”

    ‘I must be off in a fees myself. It o meet you, Margaret. ill you come again?“

    ‘You don’t actually live fully.

    he cake.

    ‘Bless me, no. I ured to come ernoons. For, ’s say for contemplation, shall we?“

    ‘t down soon. I suppose you know?“

    ‘I kno, absently, fondly. ”It’s a s it? I sually I t you  you’re not.“

    ‘No, I’m not a surveyor. I’m ing a book about someone wo live here.“

    ‘the Angelfield girls?“

    ‘Yes.“

    Aurelius nodded ruminatively. “t.” For a moment his eyes were far away.

    ‘ill you come again, Margaret?“ he asked as I picked up my bag.

    ‘I’m bound to.“

    o  and dre a card. Aurelius Love, traditional Englisering for eddings, Cenings and Parties. ed to telepelep come to ttage and I’ll make you a proper tea.”

    Before ed, Aurelius took my ted it in an easy, old-faseps and he heavy doors behind him.

    Sloo tranger I  met—met and befriended. It  unlike me. And as I passed te, I reflected t perranger. as it just my imagination, or since meeting Miss inter  quite myself?

    GRAVESI  it too late for t, and pograp of tion. So I took my notebook out for my y but a small one, and t so very many graves. I found Joo t of our Lord, ed for tes and inscriptions into my notebook. One of t, a gay bunc closer to see ten.

    t see t it did not puzzle me for more te. t ombs ories carved into t  ed tone arcened vaults betimbers and ted, I peered at tones and monuments in tiny curies all aper loquacious line of encomium, expensively carved into costly marble. Anoto decipions; for today it was only a handful of names I was looking for.

    ity came to an end. C hey who decided—

    seemed not to o any great lengtions to come. Released from eartone’s laconic message. Isabelle’s role in ture from it  conventional terms: Mucer, so a better place. But I copied it into my notebook all tion. Younger t so tragically young as  still, not an age to die.

    I almost missed Ced every otone in t to give up, one. So small , and so black, t it seemed designed for invisibility, or at least insignificance. to give relief to tters so, unable to make t by eye, I raised my  tyle, ips, one  a time.

    CO t.

    E ShALL NEVER SEE hIM MORE.

    tes.

    I felt a sudden ced t Vida inter? And  seemed to me t tain ambiguity in t t? Or triump fareo a bad lot?

    Leaving to tes, I felt a lig ? t, per eyes of tself? Most probably it  a deer, che woods.

    ‘It’s a s evening, ”t you can’t come home for a few hours.“

    ‘I am ested, feigning ignorance. But I kne alking about. trut I couldn’t bear inny brigine paleness of  in my mot ty daugness ay ale time,“ I explained. ”Miss inter is anxious t ill Cmas, after all. I’ll be back again then.“

    ‘Yes,“  will be Cmas soon.“

    do anyt it.

    ‘I’ve packed a feo take back to Miss inter’s  a note on the index.“

    ‘t’s fine. No problem.“

    t nig of sleep, a pressure on ty of bone pressing against my fleshes.

    It is  last!

    All I o do is open my eyes and look at  fear paralyzes me.   is t from t terrible t t I am about to join myself—rejoin myself—to?

    the fear dissolves.

    I have woken up.

    ts is gone, a figment of sleep. I do not know wed.

    I got up, repacked my ter dao tation for t train north.

    Middles

    ER ARRIVES

    ‘ Yorksrong; by time I returned it s dying days, about to tilt into December.

    December gives me ite. It makes me restless in my reading. It keeps me a nigs damp, c starts to tick on t of December, measuring tes, counting doo a certain day, t like December.

    ting us into an eternal dim to room, collecting desk lamps and standard lamps and reading lamps from guest rooms t o keep at bay t lurked in every corner, under every cains and ts of tery.

    Miss inter asked no questions about my absence, nor did sell me anyt t even after so s an absence, o see. tly empty folds around o e line t ing before I left  crept along eacing tallic tones to a e y, s overrode boted myself in t before I  doaken out my notebook, so speak, picking up tory  ained a moment longer.

    it  in t someteen; it  an age to be left unattended; t be sent to sc sc co be out of tion, it  a governess should be employed.

    A governess   a pretty name, but t a pretty girl.

    Dr. Maudsley organized it all. C  consulted. tor approacor, and bets  was done.

    icipation, eacicular mix of emotion. t an instinctive suspicion of tranger o ed ing—for sations. S  till a sense of discipline in tore manners and sanity to t, so great led and ic life t in t of took to issuing orders, as t of c comply. Needless to say, ook no notice.

    Jo entirely ile.  be drao t ony silence to encourage timism t o take root in . “If s kind of person…” ster t ared out of tc be draed t ake to meet t tation  rude. “I’ve not got time to be traipsing across ty after damned scresses,” or o make arrangements to collect  opiary garden, Jo been t ure. t a fresened properly for years. Jouated to secrecy, foresarouble.

    In our separate  daunted. All except C is.  of sigtering t sime to time, a din to  iced. In ion of day or time, and t noto him.

    e  morning in one of t rooms on t floor. A bedroom, you’d , if t ed t t ran ttern of tains. itiously put it in , ready to add later to tas ration  meant or not, saminated by tation t  the house.

    It rokes of   t door, to , to , and took us for a trick of t or a ed by tever s can’t have been us.

    But ared. e didn’t knoo ter , s: all in tinct tint. inguisure. And yet ared. e stared at il our eyes actle face ed. Someted from  a gloic.

    e  it  before.

    e found out later, though.

    er was clean. Scrubbed and soaped and rinsed and buffed and polished all over.

    You can imagine w s of Angelfield.

    a quarter of an  and ed to see ed. And ed. Not  time, . All our expertise in  going to come looking for us. And s come. e  in ty t seeded itself in us despite our resistance. e became attentive to tairs: Joure, some banging and knocking. t fell quiet. At lunc go. At six tayed on in t to be reckoned h.

    Later came tting ready for bed. Footsteps on tairs, table, Miss,” and teel in velvet, “I’m sure I rouble.”

    ‘About the girls, Miss Barrow-—“

    ‘Don’t you  t. Good night.“

    And after t siously doairs, all .

    Nig. Except us. ttempts to teac nigime ened and  t scratcc on doairs, to the larder.

    t open. time, but tonig betrayed itself race of fresh oil.

    Emmeline ed patiently, blankly, for to open, as sed before. Confident t in a moment tter and jam for taking.

    But to panic. t. t’s  of fiddling to know wched which lock.

    t y.

    Emmeline stirred, antly at the delay.

    to a real c s catc . You could al into one of ttages for a snack.

    tcurned, topped. No amount of tugging and jiggling could free it. It was padlocked.

    tters secured in to t double doors . Emmeline, be of moonliginted blue by to  ts,  of reac o place at top of the double doors.

    e were imprisoned.

    Emmeline spoke. “Yum yum,” so be fed. It . e  ime coming, but eventually Emmeline’s poor little brain realized t t be  came into h and wailed.

    tone staircase, turned into to t, rose up anot of stairs and slipped under the new governess’s bedroom.

    Soon anoto it. Not t t, metronomic step of er Barro. A brisk, un of stairs, along a corridor, to the gallery.

    I took refuge in tains just before so t op of tairs sood, a compact little figure, neit nor t on a sturdy pair of legs, topped by t calm and determined countenance. In ed blue dressing goly brus sitting up and ready for morning. uck flat to   plainness on er  remotely t t it mighe eye.

    Emmeline, at t of tairs,  ago, yet tant er appeared in all opped crying and stared, apparently placated, as t and piled  had appeared before her.

    ‘o see you,“ said er, coming doairs. ”Now, who are you? Adeline or Emmeline?“

    Emmeline, openmout.

    ‘No matter,“ ter? ould soo?“

    ‘Yum,“ said Emmeline, and I didn’t kno er .

    er looked around, seeking tain appeared to  a curtain, for after a cursory glance surned all tention to Emmeline. “Come  of . It o a  glinted tantalizingly in t.

    It did trick. “S kno  could —back to tchen.

    In tain my o anger. er and  or all over again. It was love.

    t  nig ory.

    t transfer itself to our pristine governess t ed. Instead it , drained and dusty, t managed to penetrate tains seemed alo fall on er. So ed to talized by tact tle by little tended from er o t full day it   ed. Sook tains doo a tub of soapy er. Sed pattern of pink and yello t in, and tle   the beginning.

    itermination, s ions tants er not ter came as a spring-cleaning miracle. For ty years t of tes of dust caug. Notle feet paced out tes and ter, tes were gone.

    After cleanliness came order, and t to feel tour. S from bottom to top, tutting and fro a single cupboard or alcove t escaped tention; ebook in inized every room, noting damp patctling esting doors and floorboards for squeaks, trying old keys in old locks, and labeling t doors locked be  “going over,” a preparatory stage to toration, nevertered: a pile of blankets in a corner folded and left tidily on a cucked under o be returned later to tain set straigiceable e but  test impression of  seemed so cast  a room for t to recede, for to begin so put itself in order, for ts to beat a retreat. In tered.

    ttic, it is true, did stop racks.  at tate of ty. But even in togetigc er vigor. t day, a builder came. e knec o give  before t consonant.  six or seven jobs going at once and rarely finis tes and eyeing talistic sairs in ypical lazy fas after es er o the dozen. She had galvanized him.

    itimes, bedtimes, getting-up times. A fes for out. Not only t, but to fit and ,” and neton poplin e sashes and collars appeared for everyday.

    Emmeline t regular o play—under tiger’s sruggled at first, yelled and kicked as er and tripped o tub, but ied o anotrances. Ser’s presence so study  for a smile. er did smile—it  infrequent—Emmeline gazed at . Before long so smile back.

    Otoo. tor, and aken to a specialist. On urn s seeing ts neate of cleanliness t all tate of grayness fell aly to join er in ter’s orders morosely and kept ed from , all-seeing ones, could not resist tive effect of  a o anyone, ook up ered topiary garden for t time since tastrops to ture to mend t.

    Cly influenced.  out of  suited boto do anyt our guardian side ion, and so s er. In treated to tered togeter effect ed to an improvement in  and a firmer  but flimsy control of traders and businesspeople. Neitice, and if iced t he would have cared.

    But er did keep trol and out of sig any t eful for ter’s reign tile neigo come complaining about tive to visit tco leave, even for a minute, t realm of tion t ed  erritory, er;  of ered irely satisfactory.

    er riump ato, but t girl couldn’t do, once s o it.

    Miss inter paused,  fixedly on t presented itself to y t and me. At tress. A connected o , I  to break it, but equally anxious for  to stop ory.

    thened.

    ‘And you?“ I prompted softly. ” about you?“

    ‘Me?“ S rouble.“

    ‘trouble?“

    S and looked at me  thread.

    ‘I t’s enougoday. You can go now.“

    tory of er, I fell quickly back into my routine. In tened to Miss inter tell me ory, ebook. Later in my room, rusty sranscribed o ter’s voice in my ear; later, en, I felt my face rearranging itself into  ic gestures, urned to pictures in my er, clean and neat and surrounded by a silvery gleam, an all-body  greime, encompassing first s inants. transformed from a sloo one , briger’s so be cy, malnouriso a clean, affectionate and plump little girl. er cast  even into topiary garden,  fortside t not seen. And Jorangely named gardener, brooding on its perimeter, reluctant to be drao t. And Adeline, terious and dark-ed Adeline.

    For all my biograps I  a box of lives. A box of index cards containing tails—name, occupation, dates, place of residence and any otion t seems relevant—of all t people in t. I never quite knoo make of my boxes of lives. Depending on my mood trike me as a memorial to gladden t me. “Sing us doranded and alone t, ttle cardboard tombstones, inanimate and cold, and tself is as dead as tery. Miss inter’s cast of cers  as far as information , I ill far s of w I needed.

    I took a blank card and began to e.

    er BarrowGovernessAngelfield houseBorn: ?

    Died: ?

    I stopped. t. Did a feeen. And er  old. it verve s be. y?  if sy-five? A mere t possible? I er, in ies,  t didn’t necessarily mean a person older t he chances?

    to do.

    I added anote to t.

 FIND HER.

    as it because I o look for er t I sa in a dream?

    A plain figure in a neatly belted dressing go tained s one staircase. In to o  ed aking in everyto rest on a figure standing beood in t  seeing.

    I and terror. tening in er

    rembling in my bed. If er did not see me, t must be because I  be otherwise?

    I rose and  into to rinse my fear aead at my er, but t filled me  time as ted ed on too,  otoo. And my mind,  not also dead? A profound ook  kind of an unnatural creature ion of nature is it t divides a person bet am I t is left?  nigo its twin in a shadowy limbo.

    I lit an early fire, made cocoa, ts to e a letter to my fat finding someone? Did private detectives exist in reality or only in books? I told  little I kne er. Could a searc in motion tle information to go on? ould a private detective take on a job like t, w?

    I reread tter. Brisk and sensible, it betrayed notrembling opped. Soon Judit.

 THE EYE IN THE YEW

    t do if s o it.

    t’s  seemed at first, anyway.

    But after a time difficulties did begin to emerge. t t er, idied and cleaned rooms and left t out to discover to  need is to be left open w in use? You can see w  makes unnecessary work for you and for me.”

    tirely to concur, and er left terviee satisfied. But a er, once again, s sime s no vague promises but ermined to get to t of tter.

    ‘It’s t t, a s dreadful damp.“

    er gave t lecture in simple terms about air circulation and damp and sent ain t time sy.

    A er siced again t doors ime s call tead sed. to t t sudy tion w lay behe unlocking of doors.

    t escaped ice, but s put off. Sranger in t o o demonstrate t s to cause trouble. In time, s to get used to edly sloo fade. And to somete banal. In our garden sained, a c sced to know, “s?”

    ‘Noto do old  took her aback.

    ‘I don’t say it is,“ s t. If you  tell me o ts and tress about it.“

    Joo leave, but s a ed around ood in front of ed ? It irely reasonable one and s in a civil fasever reason o refuse?

    But refuse  come up here” was his only response.

    ‘t on.

    ‘tay a of fear.“

    ‘t’s ridiculous. ever do to be afraid of  and a man’s trousers cut doo fit. e distinctive. You must know who he is.“

    “I o leave.

    er  persistent. “But you must have seen him—”

    “It takes a certain kind of mind, Miss, to see t aren’t to see, I see noto you.”

    it , and time er made no attempt to block ood, s and  into t seemed, al exercise. S to ttom of things.

    er’s gifts of insigelligence e extraordinary. Yet counterbalancing talents  t s knoe ake for instance  of leaving to t periods , evaluating tigue, to mealtimes, tterns of energy and rest. s of told  for an  indoor lolling, stended. On one of tor ed a particular e word.

    Fooliser. there are children.

    S  t door. “It is a nice day. She garden?”

    t off toopiary garden, una they were being followed.

    ‘You or began. ”Emmeline is transformed.“

    ‘No,“ said er.

    ‘Yes, I assure you. My expectations han fulfilled. I am very impressed.“

    er boeem. to admire  as ric lines, else   her wry look and realized his error.

    esting “No”  tor took it for. It raigatement of fact. Of course Emmeline ransformed. Given ter,   it. t is w s by her “No.”

    Yet s surprised by tor’s comment. It  a iced in governesses, but noneted. tor  Angelfield, s, and her.

    Surned toor and found ood, , traigo   circle of pink scalp an incop of his head.

    ‘Jo twins did,“ er said.

    ‘ made t?“

    ‘In Emmeline’s case t is an easy question to ans, t is a ion altoget s of time s appear to . ever t ating for Joended tions.“

    ‘less. All the more shocking coming from a child.“

    Unseen by tor, s kno cruelty. Only  like to t of them.”

    Sloo opiary ser’s ance, but al, a little spy folloection of one yeo anot and rigimes turned to double back on t e dance.

    ‘You are satisfied s of your efforts h Emmeline, I imagine, Miss Barrow?“

    ‘Yes. ittention, I see no reason ly t girl so be at . S be clever, but still, I see no reason isfying life separately from er. Per even marry. All men do not seek intelligence in a ionate.“

    ‘Good, good.“

    ‘it is a different matter entirely.“

    to a standstill, next to a leafy obelisk  into its side part of t toucs brig o. She sighed.

    ‘Adeline puzzles me, Dr. Maudsley. I would value your medical opinion.“

    tor gave a courteous  is it t is troubling you?”

    ‘I  t o explain trangeness I iced in her.“

    ‘take your time. I am in no rush.“

    tor indicated a lorained into an elaborately curlicued arc frequently forms ted bedstead. t and found t geometrical pieces. “A dodecahedron, look.”

    er disregarded  and began ion.

    ‘Adeline is a ile and aggressive cs my presence in ts all my efforts to impose order. ing is erratic; sil sarving, and only t but t morsel. So be bate  takes to er. Any  by utter indifference. Sion, and, I speak frankly to you, Dr. Maudsley, I  in o return to ty.“

    ‘Is selligent?“

    ‘S s be stimulated to take an interest in anytites.“

    ‘And in the classroom?“

    ‘You appreciate of course t   migic, no Latin, no geograpill, in terests of order and routine, to attend for te telling stories.“

    ‘Does se these lessons?“

    ‘If only I kne question! Se rapped in trickery, or sometimes I o get Joo bring o avoid it, flailing o make it ao carry ing ically impossible. More often t Joo simply leave  me nor listen to me in t retreats to some inner world of her own.“

    tor listened closely and nodded. “It is a difficult case. er anxiety and you fear t ts of your efforts may be less successful ter. And yet”— see  of al state is more co tudent mighe same evidence.”

    S yet come to t.”

    ‘Ah.“

    ‘t . trategies of my o I  ate to put into action  not t…“

    er ated, and time tor  for o go on.  was slowly, and sh care.

    ‘It is as t in Adeline, a mist t separates  only from y but from imes t times t clears, and anot returns and she is as before.“

    er looked at tor, cion.  above  is shese periods?”

    ‘t aed some time before being sure enougo come to you.“ I see.

    ‘First of all t cimes, and I kno tending to be in a o me. And her hands—“

    ‘her hands?“

    ‘Usually tense, like ter demonstrated—”but times I notice to softness. ”It is as if  ory ured tention and in doing so undermined  ss ion and defiance. I  many difficult cise. And o t all tation in her.“

    tor did not ansely but considered, and er seemed gratified at ion.

    ‘Is ttern to these signs?“

    ‘Not, but…“

    o go on.

    ‘It’s probably not certain stories…“

    ‘Stories?“

    “Jane Eyre, for instance. I told tened version of t part, over several days, and I certainly noticed it too. torical tales and tales .”

    tor fro consistent? Does reading Jane Eyre al the changes you have described?”

    ‘No. t is ty.“

    ‘ do you mean to do?“

    ‘tant crict regime noitution later in life. ion of strict routine and t stimulates  detrimental to—“

    ‘to t?“

    ‘Precisely. In fact, for t ching would be worse.“

    ‘And t c, ure could you foresee for her?“

    ‘It is a premature question. Suffice it to say t I cannot at present countenance .  s become? “

    t in silence, gazing at try opposite and contemplating ter  out o tself, opiary, stared back at the branches.

    Finally tor spoke. “tion I kno al effects of quite t may be my oest; s. “ o give tion in order to establisate of al and p step.”

    ‘t is just er replied. ”Noions of eacance I nessed, togeter t stay for o give me your first ts? e can decide on te next step then.“

    . Sepped out of !

    er  .

    Sated. Could srack? as it too late? Sion. In for a penny, in for a pound. “It’s not a dodecaold ’s a tetrahedron.”

    tor rose from tepped toopiary sed.

    My  stopped. as o ree, making o trip over me?

    But opped. .

    ttle moment  eacain.   auty did so  a dumpy, potato-faced, provincial governess. asn’t she?

    In silence sared back at ransfixed by tainty glimmering in his face.

    to tilt a fraction on its axis, and they each looked awkwardly away.

    ‘ter began.

    ‘ednesday afternoon, peror. ”ednesday afternoon.“ And turned to its proper axis.

    to turn in tor took his leave.

    Betle spy bit her nails and wondered.

 FIVE NOTESA

    scratcigue irritated my eyes. My mind , and noo go to sleep.

    as my mind playing tricks on me? It seemed t I could une. ell, une. Just five lost notes. I opened to be sure. Yes. tely sound coming from the garden.

    ords I can understand. Give me a torn or damaged fragment of text and I can divine   must come after. Or if not, I can at least reduce ties to t likely option. But music is not my language. ere tes e opening of a lullaby? Or t? It o say. ito frame tever it  bound togetime t note struck up its call, t of anxiety ed to find out ill ted off, lost for good, bloion, only t sooner or later t linked t of notes  tune , empty fragment tered to t leaves from a er tree.

    Stubbornly mute es came to me out of no in my  ting time. Or else in bed, drifting betinct, meaningless song to me.

    But noe first, its companions dro rapped at t old myself, and prepared to go back to sleep. But torm, tes raised ter.

    t  only to picture t percussion , random squalls er coming doters and into drains. Drip… drip… drip. ater falling from leaves to t, bet, if I  mad or dreaming, came tes. La la la la la.

    I pulled on boots and a coat and  outside into the blackness.

    I could not see my  of my face. Noto  ts on t a trace of it. A  an instrument, but an atonal, discordant human voice.

    Slo stops I tracked tes. I  dourned into t least I t is ook my  soil  beside ted, but in a patc caug my clotrying to  es like Ariane’s to recognize. It sounded at irregular intervals, and eacime I , until topped me and I paused, ing for a neer it in t a quarter of an  at t time I found myself back at t the house. I had come—or been led—full circle.

    tes arted again.

    Instead of going in, I sat on ted my ap on my back, my neck, my hair.

    It began to seem a fooliso  ter sometantial, and I managed to persuade myself, almost, t I  tion of my oion. ts turned in otions. I  about Angelfield and fro, and t made me t, tograpaken of  in a blur of ion to telep day, but it ion; no one can o a decision made in t.

    And t me an alarm.

    A presence.  my side.

    I jerked up and looked around.

    total. to see. Everyt oak, o t c.

    Not Miss inter. Not  at time of night.

    then who?

    I felt it before I felt it. touc my side—the here and gone again—

    It , Shadow.

    Again  my ribs, and a meoardily, to announce  my roked  attempted to find a r purred.

    ‘You’re all ,“ I told ’s no nigo be out.

    o my room, licked ooget ’s protection—my dreams kept well away.

    t day er my regular intervieook myself for a ried in t of early afternoon to retrace taken by dead of nigo t after t I lost my track. My memory of stepping across t  soil of a floinely raked and in order. Still, I made a feook myself on a rouge t mig not  at least, my nigime stroll.

    I sa of t t t I came across Maurice, and for once o me. ion of craigting rig me come onto turned back to his work.

    I returned to transcribing terview.

 THE EXPERIMENT

    tion came, and Dr. Maudsley presented  t to or. er or’s visit in ter left outside ray), and  it, assumed quite correctly t ook no interest in tter.

    tient ing moods. So be led into tion took place, and submitted to being poked and prodded. Invited to open ick out ongue, s, but at least uck ed upper from loo peer in, s bite ruments; sion. S be induced to speak a single word.

    Dr. Maudsley found ient to be undere,  to determine. as tally deficient? Or al neglect and lack of discipline? t least, o absolve twins.

    t tor  in  ten to  inspired o greater eloquence), enumerating tances of misbetages, truction of topiary garden, t upon Emmeline, tion cions hink she is simply wicked?”

    For a moment oo surprised at being interrupted to answer.

    ‘It’s only a suggestion,“ so discount  t tered. t t s all was enougo give her words an edge.

    And ter.

    ‘ you must bear in mind,“ sold  in trong parental attac, and rong guidance from any oter, t to date  point in ire worldview will ionship.“

    Se rig book s it out of, but s  closely, for sed on tened, ruck by tle voice. Despite its distinctively feminine pitc tle masculine auty about it. Siculate. S of expressing vieence, s disconcerting t time, t it rato let o speak or o go on speaking herself.

    ‘I must do some more researcold er o discuss tient after tion. ”And I sainly look very closely at twin.“

    er nodded. “t it is tics bet emotions, display a great variety of beaken one set eaco p and passive. One prefers cleanliness; t. One ite for food, tarve y—er about  ed—is crucial to Adeline’s sense of identity, it is unsurprising, is it not, if s in ion e to tor t  speak, but dreinued. “Noies in t. Sens to stories, is capable of understanding and being moved by a language t is not ts a o engage  of t repress t of y.”

    er turned o tor and gave  meant it o speak.

    ‘It’s a curious idea,“ iously. ”I s te,  you? t you could expect to be lore alike than dissimilar?“

    ‘But ion t t isn’t ted briskly.

    ‘hmm.“

    S speak but let ared at ty , rying to divine tion of o make .

    ‘eresting one“— on a sympatic smile to soften t of —”I don’t recall ever reading about sucer beties.“

    S  isn’t in ties, no. If it o be any isn’t.”

    ‘You have read Lawson?“

    ‘Of course. I  dream of pronouncing an opinion on any subject  being sure of my references first.“

    ‘Oh.“

    ‘to tive, tops s of t might be drawn.“

    ‘I remember ttle start. ”Oion! ell, I wonder wudy is of any relevance?“

    ‘I  been able to obtain tudy. Can you lend it to me?“

    So it began.

    Impressed by ty of er’s observations, tor lent udy. urned it, t of pites and questions attacime, ained a number of oticles to complete ly publiss, foreign  ime by passing to er first, and reading for  telligent summaries s o read, turned to tions. Botes, ations in ing in t, but ses on imes attac assays on separate pieces of paper.

    t; te; t; t on until to kno t till one t kno  mattered.

    ‘All tor said one evening in till no nearer.“ ated manner. old  seven, and o be late. ”Is it because of Emmeline t Adeline represses t? I to t question lies outside t knohe desk, half annoyed, half resigned.

    ‘You are quite rig does.“ You could forgive esty—

    it aken o reac to listen.

    urned to her.

    ‘to find out,“ sly.

    he raised an eyebrow.

    ‘My experience and observations o believe t t y in persuading te journal to publisake one look at my qualifications and t a silly ence.“ S , and I am. All t background and knoy project there.“

    tor looked at first surprised, turned misty. Original researc so very preposterous. It struck  at t, at tion of all t mont surely be t-read doctor in try on t of t, udy under ?

    S es, and  in , murmured, “Of course, if you needed an assistant, I’d be glad to help in any way I could.”

    ‘Very kind of you.“ ical experience… Invaluable… Quite invaluable.“

    ted o notice t empered.

    er gat t footsteps and firm closing of tisfaction about them.

    ty, but it .

    Lying full-lengtop of ting hinking.

    Original research.

    Is it because of Emmeline t Adeline represses t?

    Didn’t take a genius to figure out o .

    t at night.

    Emmeline never stirred as ted   er’s arms; per of tever t realize t nig ruth was hours away.

    It  for Adeline. Quick and s once to er’s absence. Darted to t found it locked already by er’s s  all, felt it all. Severance. S s fling s against t cla t  out of o to a little  t is o ting bones, but s feel tdress  s feel t nothing. She was broken.

    morning, so t react s cing a silent mantra t might have been Emmeline, Emmeline, Emmeline.

    er lifted Adeline in  difficult. teen no srengt  antial. tairs as easily as if so be aired.

    Jo. Approving, disapproving, it tered. er did the decision making.

    told Adeline so see Emmeline; a lie t aken Adeline any. Absent from  er, s  took to tor’s  here.

    Back at er’s room back into  o find er gone. As turning to anxiety in ternoon. S as far as she village.

    At teatime er found  taring in tion t o tor’s  dared follo. er put a o time to time, Emmeline stopped, ant, ing to turn back, but er took ion of  but puzzled steps. After tea sood by t. S faded, but it  until er locked tine of putting Emmeline to bed t sraught.

    All nig seemed to go on forever.  ant in Adeline took an agonizing ty-four o break in Emmeline. But w. S and so oblivion.

    tion of tion. Imagine surviving an earto, you find t place. terrain you kno it’s not t’s no ers so often wishers.

    Miss inter sat staring into space. int o a tender apricot. Ss o a soft, sangle. But   a biting  only surned o mine.

    ‘Are you all rig eat very much.“

    ‘I’ve al.“

    ‘But you look pale.“

    ‘A bit tired, maybe.“

    e finis up to carrying on.

 DO YOU BELIEVE IN GHOSTS?

    t time I sa. S took o conjure t and begin to speak. ciced t s off ual purple eye s  ted appearance of a cher’s makeup box.

    t as er and tor expected. t and rage and kick and figing on ion for er to reconcile o ing, in s, te ially, to a pair of lifeless rag dolls.

    Not quite lifeless. tinued to circulate, sluggis o tor’s  site. t nig tranquility of sleep. t; tees, only it  a limb t their very souls.

    Did tists doubt top and  a siful project? t heir own self-deceiving blindness.

    tor carried out tests. er observed. And t every day, to compare notes. to discuss  first timistically called progress. Beor’s desk, or in t toget over papers on , sleep. t appetites, ty to sleep all time—t sleep o account for t  going as ed,  disastrously, but tists skirted around ty t t be doing o retain t togethey could work a miracle.

    tor derived great satisfaction from ty of  time in decades ific mind of t order.  egee’s ability to grasp a principle one minute and to apply it y and insig. Before long ted to  segee. And er o find t at long last ely nouris of tings agloement and pleasure. So tural. ed to understand t  o tting in solitude to e up tes, t individually o t a doubt cross t if t record it n tes, did not mention it to ther.

    So dependent did t undertaking t e failed to see t t  ill. Emmeline and Adeline  catatonic, and t vas noerred by tists continued tables and cs, proposed te experiments to test told t ted sometion and  on to t big idea.

    tor’s  at one remove, ty. to ting moutimes a day. t; eac s. As for Joside it all.  by no one, not t t stopped  to tc. I’m telling you. No good at all.”

    t o not for a nerick to try. At precisely t er detected small signs of improvement in Emmeline. turned oed from it. By listening outside doors (ally, er discovered t o win language.

    ‘Sold tor, ”by imagining ter.“

    tor began a regime of leaving Adeline alone for periods of several ening outside tepad and pen in hing.

    er and tor advised tience in tulated ts in Emmeline. Briged Emmeline’s increased appetite, o sit up, t feeps sook of er and tor agreed, t o consider t ermed “improvements” urning to ts s began is o judge.

    It  all plain sailing o ter used to , arrayed   o come. Dressed in t sigaking ion for er, ran o it. to bring t for  for er, wo several pieces and was bleeding.

    er took tructed Joo burn tra precaution, so turn all to t ts of the kind.

    S speak. For all tary  on be be induced to speak a single o er. to confer about. er and tor ing in t t talk, and sime. to speak, t ments, of course, but science s disappointments. And look at t Emmeline strong enougo be alloside? And s less time tering at t t step, staring in tion of tor’s ed.

    Progress? It   tset. It  muc all compared to ts er  arrived. But it  of it. Perly relieved. For ive success? It inued collaboration. And to t, t ed t.

    t of t o take someternal, to put a stop to it. Somet came quite out of the blue.

    ‘ ?“

    t ime, te look t s  o ask questions, I couldn’t help myself.

    Despite here was a green gleam of mischief in her eyes as she leaned forward confidingly.

    ‘Do you believe in gs, Margaret?“

    Do I believe in gs?  could I say? I nodded.

    Satisfied, Miss inter sat back in  unfamiliar impression of .

    ‘er didn’t. Not scientific, you see. So, not believing in gs, srouble when she saw one.“

    It his:

    One briger, ies in plenty of time, left to take to tor’s  full of a po s put a name to but t made renuous activity.

    took  incline t, t muc o tor’s, striding out vigorously, beat raised but  test sense of overexertion, feeling quite probably t s put o it, opped her dead.

    In tance, playing togetakable. t Emmeline in t morning, ther in green.

    It was impossible.

    But no. er ific. S be an explanation. Adeline or’s orpor   aking advantage of an open  of keys left unattended, siced  .

    to do? Running to tless. So approacretcance. So s to tor’s  a run.

    In no time siently at t ig t, but er ant t o tered  knocking.

    tor looked up, startled to see or’s face flusion, , flying free from its grips. S of breated to speak but for t could not.

    ‘ever is it?“  and coming around to put his hands on her shoulders.

    ‘Adeline!“ s !“

    tor, puzzled, froil she room.

    there was Adeline.

    er spun back around to tor. “But I’ve just seen es’s field…” Sly enoug ailed off as so wonder.

    ‘Calm yourself, sit doer,“ tor was saying.

    ‘S  out? And come back so quickly?“ er tried to make sense of it.

    ‘S t time.“ o er’s eyes, stirred by ion. ”It must ed, maintaining orly decorum.

    ‘But—“ er s hes. Adeline’s hair.“

    er turned to look at Adeline again.  to t ter es before but a neat navy one, and  loose but braided.

    ter turned back to tor .  steady. tional explanation for ific. And er kneotally and profoundly scientific. tion. “I must be mad,” sed and rils quivered. “I !”

    ears.

    It produced a strange sensation in tor to see or reduced to sucate of dision. And alt ist in   admired er for  inctive, t responded to egration by putting e embrace.

    er did not resist.

    Listening at doors is not bad manners or’s ist o studying  so startled tor and er came as no surprise at all to Mrs. Maudsley,  for some time.

    Sraged rig into the surgery.

    ‘I o leave tantly,“ so er. ”You can send Johe child.“

    to o you later.”

    t hings.

    Jocor nor  t learned from t ts of the morning.

    At  Adeline in  the door ajar.

    Emmeline, urned directly to up teps at a time and strode unatingly to the door behind her.

    And er? No one sao t tle room empty and er gone.

    I emerged from tory and into Miss inter’s glazed and mirrored library.

    ‘here did she go?“ I wondered.

    Miss inter eyed me  fro matter?”

    ‘S have gone somewhere.“

    toryteller gave me a side doesn’t do to get attaco ters. It’s not tory. t’s all to it.”

    I slid my pencil into tebook and o t urned back.

    ‘hen?“

    ‘For goodness’ sake! S, I tell you.“

    ‘S ter of application h a home address. Perhaps she came from an agency?“

    Miss inter closed or,  t t’s my story. I s Street, Banbury. I ruct o answer any inquiries you co make.”

    I e to Mr. Lomax t night.

 AFTER HESTER

    t morning, ray, I gave ter for Mr. Lomax, and sook a letter for me from . I recognized my fating.

    My fatters , and tion. range and deligeentury Danis ell me about  auction eentury letters no one seemed to . Migerested?  te detectives? ell, per  as er? t skills, and come to t, imes came into to use tended to pursue tter,  but desiccated four her sends her love.

    Did s? I ioning, I’ll e to Margaret ternoon, and she—casually? warmly?—Send her my love.

    No. I couldn’t imagine it. It ion. ritten  o please me? to make it true? as it for me or for  s to connect us? It ask. My motinents moving slo inexorably apart; my fatantly extending tructed to connect us.

    A letter  t  o me.

    Dear Miss Lea,I  a noance—and even more pleased to be of assistance. t  to be: a presumption in las ime and in sucances t deation. Its main function is to enable tate of a missing person to be passed into tors.

    I aken traced ts relating to ticularly interested in. Your Mr. Angelfield ly a man of reclusive s, and te and circumstances of  to be knoic  by one Mr. Lomax on beors (t formalities to be duly carried out. tate  value, t by a fire t left tself uninable. But you  documents.

    You  tor uations ance) to take care of his own affairs.

    It  particular attention t I noted ture of t  illegible, but I managed to  out in tumbled across one of t-kept secrets of t per already? Is t inspired your interest in the case?

    Fear not! I am a man of test discretion! tell your fato give me a good discount on titiae Naturalis Principia, and I  a o anyone!

    Your servant,illiam urned straigo t copy Professor Cadold me t s least. And on ter. And after it, in brackets, the words, formerly known as Adeline March.

    Proof.

    Vida inter was Adeline March.

    Selling truth.

    it to my appointment in tened and scribbled in my little book as Miss inter recounted termater’s departure.

    Adeline and Emmeline spent t nig day in to eacacit agreement beto treat t, and, in a o to nose, gazing cross-eyed at eac a  a smile. Blinking in unison. And ransfusion t took place via t ty-four-ion t   left its scar.

    Meane of confusion over  to disillusion  t o or  from him when she’s coming back.”

    to speak, and  you go asking  ask  all. Besides,  be seeing he place no more.”

    turned ater er not t? And tor—ant visitor—   someto  race in  clearly made sense to ot alo ions to try and understand it, a queer look came into people’s eyes,  of it.

    Joted t er ure of to take a great burden from o t longer co er  all. S to o take up opiary garden—and s so subtly, so discreetly, t it ter for o reorganize il it told  tirely  became clear t s s from t polisove, legs up on table, for op him now?

    In to ed igue. You could sometimes eps across times, ear to ted sobs of a c be t in some deeply mysterious till scientific  of  bay? It did not seem impossible.

    It  only people o er’s absence. to it instantly. t t. tap-tap-tap of er’s feet trotting up and doairs and along corridors. to a , too. t er  t o put  be paid for ools and left, came back once for his ladders, was never seen again.

    On t day of silence, and as if noto interrupt it, ts long, slo of decay. Small t: Dirt began to seep from every crevice in every object in every room. Surfaces secreted dust. indo fine layer of grime. All of er’s ctention to be maintained. And as t first  nature of to reassert itself. time came  feeling the old cling of grime on your fingers.

    Objects, too,  quickly back to t to go . Overnig of locks and off keyrings, togety companionsy beneaticks, o Emmeline’s stasreasure under t took tairs, ains took to draure made t of to move about. A sofa incs place against ted t to t. All evidence of t reasserting herself.

    A roof in ts  gets better. Some of t by to mend. It tic and feel t rain ter. to soften, ter dripped to t to tread,  o see straigo t room’s floor gave o t one day be possible to stand in to ter, like God, moves in mysterious y indirectly. Inside  finds secret gullies and run seeps and trickles in unexpected directions; surfaces in t unlikely places. All around to soak up t, but no one ever ; saucepans and boc to cant -less brouger off ting into tar. In ttic, teady t oothis?

    It  er and tor ed. Of course tion irely eradicated. Yet t tly. Adeline after all o a state of fugue once sood or . S  at t s ime passed a it mattered no was over, and so life again.

    For Emmeline, t. S  ounded t t die of it. But sloime  only . And time ime at least, to feel otions besides grief. In s, Emmeline adapted to  apart.

    Yet still ted and  t immediately know.

    At t of reunion. t, topiary gardens trees, playing endless games of no, a repetition of t experience of loss and rediscovery t Adeline never seemed to tire of. For Emmeline, ty began gradually to agonism crept in. Emmeline ed to go one . And as before, it was usually Emmeline w self, shis.

    ter, s miss  ion er all, t it  only t, but er aken up s and ific consultations t, per realizing it, sed Emmeline. During t time, finding omed solitude, Emmeline racting s and entertainments t so enjoy for t s expect to give up just because er was back.

    So it  on ter t-and-found game in topiary garden and o t a pack of cards. Lying on omacable, s aire, but t, most cime; t s fail. And every time sed.

    ilted  exactly , but uned constantly to old . Ser. hen she had finished her game.

    An er, o tigo defend o table and, erical  Emmeline.

    Emmeline did not raise a finger to defend  a sound, neittack nor w was all over.

    , sood for a fees cer. Blood o ttered everywo a ball, and urned her back and walked away.

    Emmeline remained il Joo find er. ook o t of  a compress on reated c er was ed. “I do wish I knew when she was coming back.”

    ‘S be coming back,“ Jorying to contain  like to see ther.

    ‘But I don’t see  a word. ever can h her family…“

    Joimes, to, t er  come back. t o , too, and more besides, and by no  t in t kno t terous affair or.

    It able t one day rumors of er’s “be first so entertain t er—er—could  o Jo or’s t day, ing t directly from t occurred. And besides,   of t occurred?

    ‘ammered, ”an emergency…“

    ‘ter, tten,  s to come back? Ster?“

    the Missus shook her head.

    ‘ell to keep tisfaction from  s ougo, and s be coming back. Sake it from me.“

    t round and around it in  knoo believe. the world had become a very confusing place.

    GONE!

    Only Ced. t under er’s regime side t breakfast, luncomato, a bo unpredictable intervals,  make any difference to C   eat a mouterday’s c if it isn’t t, and  boto . It  er, in ure,  changed.

    Yet c o do er.

    From time to time a letter o time to time someone . A feer Jo about tter from er, ticed a small pile of letters gat on t under tter box. Shem.

    One from Cerested in an investment opportunity… ?

    the roof.

    as ter?

    No. the asylum. Isabelle was dead.

    tared at tter. Dead! Isabelle! Could it be true? Influenza, tter said.

    Co be told, but t t. Better talk to Dig first, sting tters aside. But later,   tcable and sopping up ea, trace of tter in  , lost moments, lived and felt but unrecorded and t. Neverter, passing tray of burnt toast and bacon, s tters on tray  all of tents.

    And to  all, except t t got ted on t fart became easier and easier to forget t ter.

    It hing had happened.

    doors man and not domesticated. Nevert time o do for one more cup of tea  being first e t  cannot be used straiger for cooked. y plates and cups piled up,  to and do t o see  ton boots and  erra-cotta pots and tender plants. And it came to tention t tes antly of tairs e for Master Curn an empty plate to tchen? No.

    upstairs. Outside tes and cups ouc for t buzzed over it, and t smell.  noticing t till untoucoted up tes and cups and fro is when he knew.

    knock at t ? o go to imber strong enougo use as a battering ram. t against tal ore ao the door.

    tered door fell open, s errible stenc, knocking Emmeline and teps. Even Jo o urned a ser. “Stay back,” ered the room. A few paces behind, I followed him.

    e stepped gingerly tting food on tirring clouds of flies up into ty plates covered elpiece, on cable. ttering ram ill iously, and a startled rat came scurrying out over our feet. It ted vomit encrusted table by the Missus’s old darning needle.

    ty. Just crumpled, filts stained her human vileness.

    e did not speak. e tried not to breaty, c . to steel o open to t. Before it snagged in my nostrils, my skin seemed to smell it, and a cold s bloomed all over my body. toilet  quite contain t o cover. But t ook a sep back and  t, taken teps back myself. In tink of  droppings and t into tairs and out of doors.

    I  looked fres.

    ‘All rigted my back  ill trembling.

    t ions all over  could ell her?

    e , C. But Charlie himself?

    ‘ told her. ”he’s gone.“

    I returned to my room, t tory. It . teresting turn of events. It left me t t curious abbreviation: ldd. But ticed? I  I iced. today Miss inter had said I.

    In my room, on a tray next to the ham sandwiches, I found a large brown envelope.

    Mr. Lomax, tor, o my letter by return of post. Attaco  kindly note ract,  aside, a letter of recommendation from a Lady Blake in Naples, ively of er’s gifts, and, most interesting of all, a letter accepting t, ten by the miracle worker herself.

    Dear Dr. Maudsley,to me.

    I so take up t at Angelfield on t.

    I  trains run only to Banbury. Per make my o Angelfield from t Banbury Station at  ten.

    Yours sincerely, er Barrourdy capitals, consistency in t of tters, a sense of smoote loops of tter size s. No elaborate curls, flounces or flourisy of tion t governed eacter. It was a good, clean  was er herself, made word.

    In top right-hand corner was an address in London.

    Good, I t. I can find you now.

    I reacranscription, e a letter to t Fat er: I o introduce myself, for less be unaoucly on tter of to justify my claim on ime; I o enumerate everyt er: Naples, London, Angelfield. But t of my letter was simple: Find her.

 AFTER CHARLIE

    Miss inter did not comment on my communications or, tain s as I am certain ts I requested o me  . I  cing, ory” s on t of letters from Mr. Lomax and sent my request for o t, s a  only picked up ory , as tal excion were happening.

    C Isabelle, to all practical purposes we  wo years before, and so ss.

    Joed by Cer’s. C ric, a , but er of times a year, at time of asking, o keep ticking over. And no hey do for money?

    Joed on cleaning up ters—“It’ll make us all ill ot on teps outside, draook long batill it glowed pink. rils.

    And iced  track of ables o a mustom of t tc y, pulling potatoes from tables in er, peeling ttling pan lids at tove. e ate good meat or fisy of vegetables, drank strong,  tea. t in c sense t to be asks. After t fell, t talking over tcable.   would become of us all?

    ‘Don’t he Missus said.

    Come out? Jo tten already?”

    ‘Gone!“ She shook her head and laughed as if he’d made a joke.

    At t s learned t of Cure, it arily but  found a place to settle taired s but also , rail of t, s to tunnels t opened beneat, came to vague, semipuzzled s: asn’t t ser, srapdoor in time,  even realizing it, into t of o grieve for  wife.

    ‘I kno  of take t to ’ll do trick. In fact, I’ll go and look in on the baby now.“

    Jo explain to  Isabelle  ricken surprise and a demand to knoell me Miss Isabelle o tes on  tered corridors of t, grieving over tragedies long gone as terday, and oday’s sorro to go t again.

    Slo of ting one foot painfully in front of t of to see to t, op   be his head in his hands and sighed.

    to do? About C t everyt  preoccupation. At ts  of tion. No reports of Cside tlike s, no one o discover ion, Joo inform anyone—tor? tor?—of Curned tion in ime o be no. A man  rigo leave o go  telling ination. t Joelling tor, ion in t not ill, and as for tor…

    loud greed.

    For if C return, or … ance ural. At Angelfield to ter sider to enter t e mistrust of solicitors. Jo Mr. Lomax,  in o confide ty to a member of a profession t made its living from s nose in ote affairs. And besides, if Crangeness already or be content to put  so t Joinue to pay t solicitors to kno it  be as simple as t. Joing o every dark corner and carefully cultivated so it.

    And tor o come to to see t rig on tor being called in. And to to Isabelle. Saken away.  do any good?

    No. t got rid of one outsider; it ime to invite in anoto deal e tely. , no they were, by himself.

    t recent  entirely  money. Also, er  collecting  cas e for it and t desperate. to pay for a lot of food, since tables and fruit to feed an army in t. And if it came to it, if ty (Jo  by t t a calamity? as it possible t  cases of claret out of turn.

    ‘e’ll be all rig,“ old tte, one nigc knoo see.“

    It ing pretense at conversation; ing straig t of talking to oo long in o be given up liginued to sit across table in tcs, s of rying to find tion bet too complex for o navigate, and t led o t he darkness.

    food coming from tc up meat on te and put tiny forkfuls in  ea and made freser, but ten ones  tied in tood in ttic, looking at tco get t sorted,”  it  raining muc  sno  could . to do. s and clotiff and sticky s and plucked ps and roasted t needed to be done.  a imes.

    From time to time  opiary garden, but le could not enjoy it. t  properly required more time to give it. In t of t  up c  go.

    Once  used to it, tain comfort in our neence. tantial and discreet source of ime  by, our o feel sustainable. Better really if C to stay absent. Unfound and unreturning, neito anyone.

    So I kept my knoo myself.

    In ttles, it er Isabelle aken to t till; I kneers on  old needle.

    It  masked trance into air s tenness, and te ts. It was C.

    I backed out of t caring about ttles and t  to get a of  ayed  seemed impossible to escape are.

    o find comfort?

    ttle olen food t ting my breato ordinary life. And ood looking in, at a ing. t knoale.

    I cil tbeat returned to normal.

    I o Angelfield. And I didn’t tell. e ter off as  couldn’t make any difference to ?

    of my gs.

    It seemed to me t tor’s car er’s drive.  arrived in Yorks became every oto tudied Miss inter carefully. I knes. Miss inter er elling me ory so drarengt ed by age and illness. I explained telling myself it ancy of tor’s attention t aining her.

    And yet in o my eyes, s e seriously. For ed announcement one morning? Quite out of told me t Miss inter oo uno meet me. t for a day or tervie o do ake a s holiday.

    ‘A er t my going a time, I  to send me an a mas only a feoo!“

    t fortion. Somet riged out of the way.

    ‘I can pack a case for you, if it would ically, knowing I knew shing.

    ‘I can do my o.

    ‘It’s Maurice’s day off, but Dr. Clifton o tation.“

    Poor Judited deceit and  subterfuge.

    ‘And Miss inter? I’d like a quick h her. Before I go.“

    ‘Miss inter? I’m afraid she…“

    ‘on’t see me?“

    “Can’t see you.” Relief flooded y rang out in  last so say sometrue. “Believe me, Miss Lea. S can’t.”

    ever it  Juditon kne, too.

    ‘s in Cambridge is your fated to kno all?“ I anser a time tempts at small talk came to an end. As o e, tmosper’s oppressive silence.

 ANGELFIELD AGAIN

    train, I ivity and noise: sed instructions and arms sending messages in urgent semap and sloone crasone. Instead, as I arrived at tes and looked toion site, everyt and still.

    to see; t t   distance ainct. My feet , gone t. Lifting my racing t from my last visit, as I remembered it from Miss inter’s descriptions.

    My mind map e: I came to tly o. tood like a ed stage set, flattened into ts, a pair of domed forms floated on t, trunks t supported to teness beneaty years  t of s it oday to suppose t it  t ening try of t ed, it  s matical perfection, set in t of a demolition site, nor of a ruin, but of a act.

    ury, as insubstantial as ter suspended in to evaporate  ray of er sun.

    I broug close to my face and read time. I o meet Aurelius, but o find ? I could  seeing hin arm’s reach.

    I called out “o me.

    ‘hello!“

    Impossible to tell  or close by. “here are you?”

    I pictured Aurelius staring into t looking for a landmark.

    ‘I’m next to a tree.“ the words were muffled.

    ‘So am I,“ I called back. ”I don’t tree as mine. You sound too far away.“

    ‘You sound quite near, though.“

    ‘Do I?  you stay walking, and I’ll find you!“

    ‘Rig plan! to to say,  I?  is to speak to order,  of time…  dismal .“

    And so Aurelius t aloud, o a cloud and follohe air.

    t is  me, pale in tery lig  Aurelius. I ing of my , and I stretc my  of view.

    ‘Aurelius?“ My voice sounded so my own ears.

    ‘Yes?“

    ‘Are you still there?“

    ‘Of course I am.“

    e tion.

    Aurelius. It must  of t. Afraid of ed, I stood still, staring into to appear again.

    ‘A voice betened urned to face , you’re as !“

    e oget, Aurelius seemed even taller and broader t-gray raincoat, I felt insubstantial.

    ‘how is your book going?“

    ‘It’s just notes at t. Intervieer. And research.“

    ‘today is researc?“

    ‘Yes.“

    ‘ do you need to know?“

    ‘I just  to take some pograp though.“

    ‘You’ll get to see it properly   last long.“

    e came to a kind of  made a hedge.

    ‘hy do you come here, Aurelius?“

    e strolled on to to a space  mist. o a iced a sparkling in t. ture in to evaporate and ty gree. Our ered by.

    ion seemed so lost in time t I  even sure I , Aurelius answered. “I was born here.”

    I stopped abruptly. Aurelius  o catch him.

    ‘Aurelius!“ I took coat. ”Is it true? ere you really born here?“

    ‘Yes.“

    ‘hen?“

    range, sad smile. “On my birthday.”

    Unted, “Yes, but when?”

    ‘Sometime in January, probably. Possibly February. Possibly ty years ago, roug kno.“

    I fro Mrs. Love and not  in ances ed ctle about ances t  even know hday?

    ‘Do you mean to tell me, Aurelius, t you are a foundling?“

    ‘Yes. t is t I am. A foundling.“

    I  for words.

    ‘One does get used to it, I suppose,“ ted t o comfort me for his own loss.

    ‘Do you really?“

    ell me. “No, actually,” he said.

    iteps of invalids,   gone. topiary  t bushey were.

    ‘So it was Mrs. Love who…“ I began.

    ‘… found me. Yes.“

    ‘And your parents…“

    ‘No idea.“

    ‘But you kno was his house?“

    Aurelius so ts. ig expect oto understand. I  got any proof. But I do knoinue.

    ‘Sometimes you can kno yourself. t explain it.“

    I nodded, and Aurelius  on.

    ‘t I old me so, o er I looked it up in the local paper. Anyway—“

    akable ligelling sometremely important. A story so c o be dressed in casualness to disguise its significance in case tener turned out to be unsympatic.

    ‘Anye I got o myself. t about it. I knew.“

    it ness slip, alloo creep in. . “Obviously I don’t expect anyone to believe it. I’ve no evidence as suces, and Mrs. Love’s vague memory of a smell of smoke—and my oion.”

    ‘I believe it,“ I said.

    Aurelius bit  me a wary sideways look.

    , edly onto a peninsula of intimacy, and I found myself on telling o my antly into sentences, long strings of sentences, bursting ience to fly from my tongue. As if t years planning for t.

    ‘I believe you,“ I repeated, my tongue ting oo. Kno know. From before you can remember.“

    And t  in tant.

    ‘Did you see t, Aurelius?“

    o topiary pyramids and beyond. “See  see anything.”

    It   all.

    I turned back to Aurelius, but I  my nerve. t for confidences was gone.

    ‘ a birthday?“ Aurelius asked.

    ‘Yes. I’ve got a birthday.“

    All my unsaid  back to whese years.

    ‘I’ll make a note of it, sly. ”then I can send you a card.“

    I feigned a smile. “It’s coming up soon, actually. ”

    Aurelius opened a little blue notebook divided into months.

    ‘teentold e it do looked like a toothpick in his huge hand.

 MRS. LOVE TURNS A HEEL

    started to rain  our o ter of ttle jig to drive ts, and t inside.

    e sat in a pear and I stared up at ted ceiling until I made myself dizzy.

    ‘tell me about  it?“

    ‘I knoold me,“ ell you t. And of course tance.“

    ‘You ance?“

    ‘Yes. It’s not  an inance, but all t, I could s to you later.“

    ‘t would be nice.“

    ‘Yes… Because I  too adjacent to breakfast for cake, isn’t it?“ It ant grimace t turned into a gleam  , Invite Margaret back for elevenses. Cake and coffee,  sound? You could do ance at time.  little to see.“

    I accepted tation.

    Aurelius took  and began to polisly h a handkerchief.

    ‘ell no old to me. Mrs. Love, and ory.“

    tled into passive neutrality, a sign t, in torytellers, o make ory itself. And ted, and from   t of  was Mrs. Love I ory.

    ory, and Aurelius’s, and also, perhaps, Emmeline’s.

    tc nigorm . In treetops tling, and it  to break tting in t  turning t a s t I  of fire t I’d broug afternoon, and I’d only just put anot cold, not at all, but I t to myself,  a nig some poor soul caugdoors a  poor soul as made me shiver.

    Everyt indoors, only ten, and tting needles, and my sig o remembering, and t’s a bad  for a y. I’d got a ent? Not I. So t sig coming. After a time I got up to fetcry, nice and mature, fed  e turned over. Do you kno sock twice!

    No bot really botter, not slapdaser Kitty used to be, nor  near t mistake twice in my life.

    t time I turned a oo often ting by an open   tell you e dresses and  of nonsense like t. And all of a sudden I looked do I’d turned t , a  and t loud. It didn’t matter. Easy enougo undo it and put it right.

    I’d already dra ’s up , all of a e, and topped dead te s’s  a trouble for  for me. S s even say my name. S s.

    t.  er some grouse.  ougo ook frig to tile first and oo y.  caugile. aken ime. steps coming after t t need to spell it out, do I? You can guess w happened.

    I undid my knitting. All ttle knots t you make one after moto knit a sock, I undid t’s easy. take t, a little tug and t fall apart. One after anotra  kept going. t, t  to unravel, only a pile of crinkled blue wool in my lap.

    It doesn’t take long to knit a sock and it takes a lot less to undo it.

    I expect I o a ball to make somet I don’t remember t.

    time I turned a o get old. Kitty and me ting by toget ting so mucter, I t. Saking an interest in t  ting—a nice pair of bed socks it ty, softest lambs’ o go   it, turned t wice.”

    I . “ell, I’m blowed,” I said.

    S ting, s be surprised. Surning ting to turn at all. More tted a sock for  a leg and a toe. e laug s me, s  like me to be so absentminded.

    ‘ell,“ I said, ”I ake before. Only t I’ve just told you. All about my young man. And arted to put it rigakes a bit of concentration, and t  s alking about my loss all t by comparison.

    It oo dark to finisoe properly, so I put it aside and looked up. “Kitty?” I said. “Kitty?” t t be asleep. But s.

    So be back ime I’d been peering at t bed sock in ttering aory, so him.

    So it bot nigco find t I’d knitted a second  and lost my young man. t my sister. Noime. I  to lose. there was only me now.

    I looked at t  for me.

    Per didn’t matter, I told myself. o miss me? No one  er all, at least I’d  like my young man. And also I remembered tty’s face, t  be so bad, I t.

    I set to unraveling tra   of t, you mig  to be found . “Silly old ting in ? Surned   t. So I undid it. And as I o go, in my mind.

    I don’t kno. But eventually a noise found its o my ear. From out-of-doors. A cry, like some lost animal. I s, not expecting anyto come no first I paid no notice. But I  again. It seemed to be calling me. For uck out  per , lost its moto meet my maker, ttle cat, s  fur, kept distracting me. And I t, Just because I’m dying, t’s no reason to deny one of God’s creatures a bit of o eat. And I migell you, I didn’t mind t of ure by me rig t moment. So I  to the door.

    And here?

    tucked in t of tten. Poor little mite. Cold and  and  doe you saopped crying.

    I didn’t linger outdoors. You ed feeding and some dry t stop long in t a quick look. Not all. Just tling trees at to toward Angelfield?

    I clutco me, came inside and closed the door.

    ted to me. time, and it  came to t taug to go reading too muco coincidences. I ime to be t deater t, anyway.

    I o t.

    And we lived er.

    Aurelius sion;  imes as a boy, repeated inside himself for decades as a man.

    ory emplating tar. Outside tinued to fall, unill as a statue by my side, yet s, I suspected,  quiet.

    ts of t  I said not ed for o return to t in ime. o me.

    ‘t’s not my story, is it? I mean, I’m in it, t’s obvious, but it’s not my story. It belongs to Mrs. Love. ted to marry; er Kitty; ting.  is ory. And t o an end, I arrive and give tory a neart.

    ‘But t doesn’t make it my story, does it? Because before s… before—“

    ed, breature to cut off ence and start again:

    ‘Because for someone to find a baby like t, just find  in t means t before t to y—“

    Anotic erasing gesture of t t  o say:

    ‘Because if Mrs. Love found me, it can only mean t before t  have—“

    t  verb.

    o despair. ated gesture, ed in an attitude t suggested a plea or a prayer.

    times ely t you can, as them like a book. I read Aurelius.

    Do not abandon me.

    touco atue returned to life.

    ‘t ing for to stop,“ I  for tos can . e may as well go.“

    ‘Yes,“ . ”e may as well.“

 THE INHERITANCE

    “It’s a mile and a ,” ing into the woods, “longer by road.”

    e crossed t  so old you, tom. It’s too . t o a  in disappointment at seeing tationary cranes and macers over t tell t. t up  in a brief conference of mackintoshes.

    Aurelius  by tableau.

    ‘I’ve seen they are?“

    ‘treet. ter the deer here.“

    ‘Do till  here?“

    ‘No. S looks after they’re a nice family.“

    Enviously er ttention o me,” uff—” ure and turned to’s go home.”

    tosurning back toes, he same decision.

    Aurelius and I  friendship.

    to cut out t and tery sky. Stretc an arm to pusra raindrops to add to t fell on us from tree and leaned over it, staring into ts  ened tting bark almost to fur.

    then, “home,” Aurelius pronounced.

    It one cottage. Built for endurance ration, but attractive all ts simple and solid lines. Aurelius led me around t a ell. It  t a o. Except t at tension, almost as large as tself, and taken up entirely chen.

    ‘My sanctuary,“ he said as he showed me in.

    A massive stainless-steel oven,  fridges—it chen for a real cook.

    Aurelius pulled out a c at a small table by a bookcase. talian. One book, unlike t on table. It ebook, corners blunt  ransparent after decades of being tery fingers. Someone ten RECIPIES on t, in old-fasals. Some years later ter  t pen.

    ‘May I?“ I asked.

    ‘Of course.“

    I opened to leaf t. Victoria sponge, date and  loaf, scones, ginger cake, maids of art, ric cake… ting improving as turned.

    Aurelius turned a dial on tly, assembled s. After t everytretc an arm for a sieve or a knife  looking. c smootly, knoly o do,  in front of s. ter into dice, zested an orange. It ural as breathing.

    ‘You see t cupboard?“ o your left? ould you open it?“

    ted a piece of equipment, I opened the cupboard door.

    ‘You’ll find a bag hanging on a peg inside.“

    It cs sides  stitc just tucked in. It fastened rap, attacy clasp at eaco  diagonally across your body. t mig the color of age.

    ‘ is it?“ I asked.

    For a second o me.

    ‘It’s the bag I was found in.“

    urned back to combining s.

    tco Aurelius. Even bent over  tall. I  orybook giant  eyes on oday trap  even go around  sixty years ago o fit inside. Dizzy at t of ime can do, I sat do cs canvas around ened t trap over o carry , to Mrs. Love’s? I ran my fingers over toucrap. Seeking some trace of  my touc reveal if only it kne know how.

    ‘It’s exasperating, isn’t it?“ Aurelius said.

    I o t him behind me, looking over my shoulder.

    ‘You open it—I’ve got flour on my hands.“

    I undid ts of canvas. to a flat circle in ter of wangle of paper and rag.

    ‘My inance,“ he announced.

    ting to be s into t  tensity of a boy staring at a treasure trove. “tory,” ell me  a matter of… of understanding t ent but resigned. “I’ve tried all my life to piece toget o place. take t, for instance—”

    It e, noangled it from ts and smoot out. It tern of stars and floy mottons; it ’s dress or niginy garment, ing to touc ing to mark it  fit over a finger now.

    ‘It’s w I was wearing,“ Aurelius explained.

    ‘It’s very old.“

    ‘As old as me, I suppose.“

    ‘Older t, even.“

    ‘Do you think so?“

    ‘Look at titc’s been mended more tton doesn’t matchis before you.“

    ted from to me and back to th, hungry for knowledge.

    ‘And ted at a page of print. It orn from a book and riddled aking it in my arted to read.

    ‘… not at first aion; but and in act to , I instinctively started aside h a cry of alarm—“

    Aurelius took up tinued, reading not from t from memory: “… not soon enoug  me, and I fell, striking my  tting it.”

    Of course I recognized it. , for I  goodness knows imes. “Jane Eyre, ” I said wonderingly.

    ‘You recognized it? Yes, it is. I asked a man in a library. It’s by Cte someone. S of sisters, apparently.“

    ‘?“

    ‘Started to. It  a little girl. S  takes  I o somet. Nasty , not like Mrs. Love at all. t  later so scerrible scerrible food, but ser t… I seemed to lose interest. Didn’t read t see  fitted after t.“ . ”?  o  relevant?“

    ‘S secretly—tries to burn ter is blind, and Jane marries him.“

    ‘Aried to puzzle it all out. But  doesn’t make sense, does it? t t after t… I  means. I ell me truth.“

    urned back to torn-out page. “Probably it’s not t’s important at all. Per’s just t  meaning. Look here—”

    Inside tigters ten in a large, boyiso t o decip. I tried t letter of every  of every line. Or tried replacing one letter for anoted to rials, eyes feverisill a c see somet had escaped him before.

    I kne was hopeless.

    ‘ about t object and couldn’t   no y, dirty-looking ts oils dried up, ted into stiff brohe cracked spine.

    Aurelius sh relief.

    And t one more t  finis ain t mig it closely.

    ‘I tuttered, ”— e bot“— me in  it must be my name.“

    ed. “It got  in t  ured at me to o t. ‘Somet t o, over to look lard, but you can see it, can’t you?“

    I stared at tain.

    ‘Can’t you?“

    I made a vague motion her nod nor shake.

    ‘You see! It’s obvious  it?

    I continued to look, but tom letters t o my eye.

    ‘And t,“ tled on Aurelius. t just as easily be Alphonse, I suppose.“

    urned a you’ve seen t.” o op pocket and took out t our first meeting, ing on t cats flanking teps of Angelfield house.

    ‘And tself,“ I ?“

    ‘Just a bag,“ ed it to  delicately. ”It used to smell of smoke, but not anymore.“  to me, and I bent my nose to it. ”You see? It’s faded now.“

    Aurelius opened took out a tray of pale gold biscuits t  to cool. ttle and prepared a tray. Cups and saucers, a sugar botle plates.

    ‘You take tray to me.  sting room, old comfy c  in a minute.“  o me,  things away.“

    I  into Mrs. Love’s front room and sat in a co stow ance—ance—safely away.

    I left tc my mind. as it sometion tention but  a of ory. It didn’t matter. It o me.

    In t, teeply and is covered in patc levels out and trees again. Because of t provides an unexpected vantage point from   I stopped, on my tage.

    t remained of it,  a gray sky. tories on t-ed by its dark stone lintel and teps t led up to it, but tself   a day to be open to ts, and I sled one cats . Like taken t of t. t-ill largely intact, to judge by tion of t  to go. as all t mac myself t looked as if tones still standing, pale and insubstantial as rice paper, seemed ready to melt a stood there long enough.

    My camera angled it from under my coat and raised it to my eyes. as it possible to capture t appearance of tness? I doubted it but o try.

    I ing tance lens  t my g. t excitedly.  ? A uned to see more clearly.

    One of to ted t of it. It ed smile er—I could see it  on iff as a soldier ood, c out, ent ration to keep too-large  from slipping.

    Just as ruck  of sun-ligs ing  of glory. I clicked tter and my po aken. t, over  s sign, and to , in the house, a dismal smudge of gray.

    took my eye off to uck my camera a , tes, equal stride, equal erbalance to tails of tos barely skimming t to lift into the air and fly.

    JANE EYRE AND thE FURNACE

    back to Yorksion for my banis. Judited me rained smile. t  under ed in sains back a feing room, exposing a bit more  it made no difference to ted  s tether.

    t  felt like an eternity. Often nig never quite day, t of t of time. Miss inter arrived late to one of our morning meetings. Soo,  kno pain t put thing else.

    ‘I propose a more flexible timetable for our meetings,“ stled in .

    ‘Of course.“ I kneervieor, could see o control  yet taken full effect. And so  instead of presenting myself at nine every morning, I  instead for a tap at my door.

    At first tap came alen. t drifted to later. After tor altered ook to asking for me early in t our meetings o a  of meeting times a day, at random times. Sometimes s  lengtail. At otimes s  so muced as tic qualities of torytelling itself.

    time gone. I listened to ory, I e tory, ory, and ory t formed tant backdrop of my ts. It irely inside a book. I didn’t even need to emerge to eat, for I could sit at my desk reading my transcript  Judit to my room. Porridge meant it  lunceak and kidney pie ime over a dis did it mean? It could mean anyte a fee away.

    In tiated lapse of time, ts t stood out. I noted t time, separately from tory, and th recalling here.

    this is one.

    I  a ion of a fanatic: tions t came up so rarely on t it  a price to t fell at every point betremes. ticular, edition from turn of tury.  Miss inter in and settled he fire.

    er asked, “ are you looking for?”

    “Jane Eyre.”

    ‘Do you like Jane Eyre?“ she asked.

    ‘Very much. Do you?“

    ‘Yes.“

    She shivered.

    ‘Soke up the fire for you?“

    She lowered her eyelids as if a wave of pain had come over her. “I suppose so.”

    Once trongly again, s? Sit do.”

    And after a minute of silence shis.

    ‘Picture a conveyor belt, a , and at t a massive furnace. And on t are books. Every copy in tte. te.“

    “Middlemarch, ” I supplied.

    ‘t t t to it is a  to turn it on. And you can stop it. You o do is pull trigger.  do you do?“

    ‘No, t’s silly.“

    ‘urns to On. t arted.“

    ‘But it’s too extreme, it’s ical.“

    ‘First of all, She edge.“

    ‘I don’t like games like this.“

    ‘Noarts to go up in flames.“

    I sighed and closed my eyes.

    ‘uts coming up. Going to let t burn, are you?“

    I couldn’t eady process to the furnace, and flinched.

    ‘Suit yourself. In it goes. Same for Jane Eyre?“

    Jane Eyre. I hed.

    ‘All you o do is s. I  tell. No one need ever knoarted to fall. Just t fe t of copies. You  to make up your mind.“

    I rubbed my t a rough edge of nail on my middle finger.

    ‘ter now.“

    S remove her gaze from me.

    ‘. All of Jane Eyre will soon hink.“

    Miss inter blinked.

    ‘t one person, Margaret. Just one tiny, insignificant little person.“

    I blinked.

    ‘Still time, but only just. Remember, to live?“

    Blink. Blink.

    ‘Last chance.“

    Blink. Blink. Blink.

    Jane Eyre was no more.

    “Margaret!” Miss inter’s face ted in vexation as s   t  ched in her lap.

    Later, , I t it  spontaneous expression of feeling I er. It  of feeling to invest in a mere game.

    And my oer, I o say so.

    On my , I returned to took t met my criteria. Rig kind of paper, rigypeface. In my room I turned till I found the place.

    ‘… not at first aion; but and in act to , I instinctively started aside  soon enoug  me, and I fell, striking my  tting it.

    tact. Not a single page  torn from. But in any case, he house.

    For a time I sat doing not no matter  make sense of it.

    time  of tograp tray one morning, addressed to me in my fating. It ures from my first day: brambles gros one staircase. I ed at ture of to-face ; over ted. Still, I took it out of tucked it inside to keep.

    t of tograp,  of t puzzling compositions of murkiness.  I remembered  tipping point beter. But my camera ured none of t, nor  possible in t interrupted to make out a stone, a ree or a forest. After ures, I gave up looking. Stuffing tos in my cardigan pocket, I  doairs to the library.

    e  ervie t s could not recall the words.

    ‘?“ I said.

    ‘Your pocket,“ sed. ”You .“

    ‘O’s some pograp limbo state ory and your life, , I mumbled on. ”Angelfield,“ I said.

    By time I returned to myself, tures were in her hands.

    At first s eacraining to make sense of t out a small Vida inter sig implied ations igo a critical line. ito flick tures more cursorily; to s sed to find anyterest, sossed eacer t glance onto table at her side.

    I os landing at a regular rable. top of each a sound like useless, useless, useless.

    to a . Miss inter ting ent rigidity, ure and studying it , I t. ter a long moment, pretending not to feel my gaze upon ucked to be t, tossing t as before.  ed tention resurfaced, s it but added it to t o tell it  if you say so…” sly artless movement, sohem.

    ‘My  doo retrieve tures, but I  deceived.

    And sory .

    Later I looked tures again. For all t tos   difficult to tell ood out from t. I sat on t t  and t just t time to alloo a boy raigraying t at any minute  o slip sideways on his head.

    aken by t pograp t so  y barrier and t sign.

    as it terested her?

    I puzzled over ture for  by time I came to put it aion. Because it perplexed me, I slipped it inside ture of an absence in a mirror frame.

    Apart from tograp mucory  over me.

    t, I remember. ook note of my unusual c my door for a bit of fuss at random . Finiss of egg or fise. o sit on my piles of paper, ce. For  scratc my pages, er’s story, but no matter  myself, I never quite lost my sense of being c particularly lost, it  t seemed to reaco my muddle and ligo my room, my notes, my pencils and my pencil s s, and I took to leaving my curtains open so t if  on my  o the human eye.

    And t is all. Apart from ternal twiligory.

 COLLAPSE

    Isabelle er er told me of further losses.

    Up in ttic I leaned  to make it give, t. Over and over. I empting fate.   falling cause to collapse? ould roof tiles and beams and stone come craso t? ould it stop t go? I rocked and rocked, taunting t to fall, but it didn’t. Even under duress, it is astonis ay standing.

    t, I  ill feel it resounding in my eardrums and in my c. I leaped out of bed and ran to tairs, Emmeline at my heels.

    e arrived on t time t Jo in tc t of tairs, and ared. In tanding in dress, staring up   rose and fell in to settle. Fragments of plaster, mortar, ill falling from ttering, and from time to time I felt Emmeline jump as planks and bricks fell in the floors above.

    tone steps ers of ar dug into my feet. In ter of all tritus of our broken  slotling around ood like a g. Dust-gray -gray face and -gray tdress. Sood perfectly still and looked up. I came close to are to  anot anotrellis pattern in t, and ttle attic room. Above all of t, self and tars.

    I took ’s no use looking up there.”

    I led tle c o bed,” I told John.

    G- ure toroyed ceiling. It ion of a dro. “And I’ll sort t.”

    But an er, ucked up in bed and asleep, ill tly as I  aring at t where she had been.

    t morning, c o he roof, and she was gone.

    ‘e’ve lost old Jochen. ”She’s dead.“

    cinued to stare across tcable as t ually, in a voice t did not expect to be heard. “Yes.”

    It felt as if everyto an end. I o sit like Joaring into space and doing not time did not stop. I could still feel my beat measuring out tomac in my t. I  I  instead I was scandalously and absurdly alive—

    so alive I swear I could feel my hair and my fingernails growing.

    For all t on my  I could not, like Joo ter  o o come out of t ime to stop playing and grow up.

    ‘I’ll put ttle on, tea.“

    My voice  my oo my skin and taken me over. So kno o do. I ly surprised.  I spent ccer, cche villagers?

    I settled quietly inside myself  tea leaves, stirred and poured. S t , and as t, s tea reacomac last I stopped trembling.

 THE SILVER GARDEN

    Before I e a. And a moment later, before I even opened my eyes, I kne .

    Gone  oo, tangle, and from it tered a s illuminated every aspect of my room. It  I felt a surge of joy, as t  just a nig  er. It was as if spring had come.

    t ently into tir, ely jumped do to go out. I pulled my clot on, and  doairs togeto tche garden.

    I realized my mistake t I stepped outdoors. It  day. It  t moonlig souclines of tatuary figures. I stopped still and stared at t  circle, ood till daybreak, but t, impatient, pressed my ankles for attention, and I bent to stroke ouco pause a few yards off and look over his shoulder.

    I turned up t, ss and followed.

    do tly; on t turned into t te borders of box t surrounded tterns ted in and out of t, simes I  an angle to catc perfectly; a sudden vie oak tree, etcy against t I could not stop. All time, t stalked on aep, tail raised like a tour guide’s umbrella signaling to t bordered tain pool and padded s perimeter, ignoring tion t ser like a brig ttom of trance to ter garden, o.

    Under t and rigent. Sa of sigo.

    Curious, I tiptoed foro stand where he had, and look around.

    A er garden is colorful  t time of day, at t time of year. Largely it depends on dayligo bring it to life. t visitor o look o see its attractions. It oo dark to see t too early in tness of snooo cold for to release its fragrance. tcs branced rembling yelloassels, but for no  traction. Fine and leafless, tely knotted, ting randomly and  restraint.

    At its foot, te of a human figure.

    I froze.

    ted laboriously, releasing gasping puffs of breatful grunts.

    In a long, sloo explain ter’s garden at nigantly  needing even to t tart, it  Maurice kneeling on t unlikely person to find in t never occurred to me to   Judit, calm, Judit  in t? Impossible. I did not need to consider t.

    Instead, in t second, my mind reeled to and fro a imes bets.

    It er.

    It couldn’t be Miss inter.

    It er because… because it ell. I could sense it. It was .

    It couldn’t be er er oo uno bend to pluck out a  alone croucurbing tic fashion.

    It  Miss inter.

    But somee everyt was.

    t first second  finally came, was sudden.

    the figure froze… swiveled… rose… and I knew.

    Miss inter’s eyes. Brilliant, supernatural green.

    But not Miss inter’s face.

    A patctled fles told of former beauty, ted graft of we flesh.

    Emmeline! Miss inter’s this house!

    My mind urmoil; blood  me unblinking, and I realized sartled t still, so be under t into immobility.

    S to recover. In an urgent gesture soward me and, in a ring of senseless sounds.

    Be slo even stammer urned and  of t. retcook er ch of churned-up soil.

    Foxes indeed.

    Once t o persuade myself t I . t I  in my sleep I  Adeline’s to me and , unintelligible message. But I kne ed. t infuriating, tuneless five-note fragment. La la la la la.

    I stood, listening, until it faded completely away.

    t my feet and urned back to the house.

 PHONETIC ALPHABET

    A great many years ic alp. It began  in a linguistics book in faterest at first, ot I o do one  contained. tters and foreign ones. tal N’s t  ttle n’s and capital K’s t  ttle k’s. Otters, n’s and d’s and s’s and z’s, tle tails and loops attac’s. I loved t turned into j’s, and v’s t perciny o’s like performing dogs on balls at taug  ernational pic alp, I discovered, you could e  looked like mat looked like secret code,  looked like lost languages.

    I needed a lost language. One in . I used to e one special er’s name. A talisman. I folded to elaborate miniature origami, kept my pleat of paper alo me. In er it lived in my coat pocket; in summer it tickled my ankle inside t nigc in my  alrack of ts of paper. I lost tried to prize one from my fingers, I s to t  o read it. But tom of a dra, I did noto stop  name, o break, and o me, were full of sorrow.

    o speak but, raising my finger to my lips, I commanded   tried to s  ed to forget  tried to keep  to her now.

    I prized t a  t on t tasted its dry, ang, and sen years my parents rying to forget. Noect it in a silence of my own. And remember.

    Alongside my mispronunciation of een languages, and my ability to recite t for, random  over from my bookis only to amuse myself; its purpose in te, so as ticular effort to practice it. t is o paper to capture ts and fricatives, trills of Emmeline’s urgent tempts.

    After t on t my line of squiggles and symbols and signs. as it accurate? Doubts began to assail me. ely after my five-minute journey back into tion of tic alp itself adequate?  if my first failed attempts aminated my memory?

    I en on t again, urgently. aited for to tell me I  it rig ravestied transcription of somet was useless.

    I e t name instead. talisman.

    It ill alone.

    I screo a ball and kicked it into a corner.

 THE LADDER

    My story isn’t boring you, is it, Miss Lea?“ I endured a number of sucs to suppress my yaed and rubbed my eyes o Miss inter’s narration.

    ‘I’m sorry. I’m just tired.“

    ‘tired!“ s you rigever’s tter h you?“

    I s tired. t’s all.”

    Sernly, but I said notook up ory.

    For six mont on. e sequestered ourselves in a cill slept at nigairs to get from tco t seemed secure. ttresses  on oo o move. t too big any more at ease in ty, ty of our smaller accommodation. All te forget t of tering behind closed doors, like a moribund limb.

    Emmeline spent mucime inventing card games. “Play er. Eventually I gave in and played. Obscure games ing rules, games only sood, and  deligook bat  er, spent ing in ter I’d ed for t begrudge  ter if at least one of us could be happy.

    Before o Isabelle and taken dresses and scent bottles and se of a bedroom. It rying to sleep in a dressing-up box. Emmeline  of date by ten years, oto Isabelle’s moty and forty years old. Emmeline entertained us in tic entrances into tcravagant outfits. teen; ter’s conversation or in t marry one day—and I remembered old me about Isabelle and t look at  ing to touc a sudden anxiety. But tcook a pack of cards from a silk purse and said, all c still, I made sure s leave the house in her finery.

    Joless. o do t a boy to ’ll be all rig’s only old Proctor’s boy, Ambrose.  lad. It  be for long. Only till I get the house fixed up.”

    t, I kneake forever.

    taller tood s, tarted. ient ant c on my nerves. “o ed to kno like thers.”

    But for some reason, t an outsider to Jo know.

    ‘ime and time again in anso my questions. ” ask too many questions, and  talk too much.“

    ‘ not ongue, but  eyes in his head.“

    John shrugged and looked away, uneasy.

    ‘I  al go on forever like tcure t took in ts inants, t. ”One day to change.“

    “Change?”

    ‘You’re gro  be t? It’s one t when you’re grown up…“

    But I   to kno was o say.

    Emmeline reasure box. I sat doo look up lessly at a sequin until it came a into t  time in t over toget once intent and dreamy. Every so often ouco reveal the green unchanged.

    Did I really look like t? I co  of red  t reet in matc still, I didn’t look like Emmeline, did I? My face could not do t placid concentration. It ration. I ing my lip, pus of tience. I  be tranquil like Emmeline. I e teeth.

    You  leave me, ed to say. Because I  leave you. e’ll stay ogetever Johe-dig says.

    ‘ we play?“

    Sinued   heard me.

    ‘Let’s play getting married. You can be tuff from t’s like a veil, look.“ S look up, not even  over  brus out of  her sequin.

    And so I turned my attention to reasure box. er’s keys ill in till sell, forgotten ts and pieces of Isabelle’s jes er tle, a lengt used to be mine, given to me by till be t of tains ter arrived. And  didn’t seem to belong. Somet my o get a better vie! Gold lettering. I A R.  ing my  siginy lock. And a tiny key. No  reasure box. Gold letters and a key. I s ruck me. I A R! Diary!

    I reac a hand.

    Quick as a flas and stopped me from toucill s look at me. S and broughe lid down on her box.

    te pressure marks on my  where she had held me.

    ‘I’m going to go aally. My voice didn’t sound terribly convincing. ”I am. And I’m going to leave you o grow up and live on my own.“

    ty, I stood up and  of the room.

    It  until ternoon t so find me on t in tain to  sraigo teps, felt tain move . Fore tc tantly tening to set off on one of t in trail beo me and rested  my s turn and speak to ook my o my finger.

    I ed for o go before I looked. A ring. She had given me a ring.

    I ted tone ino t it close to t brougone to life. Green, like to my palm and made a tig one at its .

    Joed buckets of rainer and emptied tables for t;  to turned ter. But after every task, ed, and every time I o able to get on  thing.

    ‘So topiary garden?“ I asked  s to do there.“

    reply.  it, then I asked again. And again. And again.

    Eventually  to ted do-of-doors. “Like to sy catcended t ticed ty catcimes, t up a fe and do  feel so secure ing against ye’s safe enoug it rigo get a feel for it.”

    And t to topiary garden. o a medium-size yeo rest t it, but “No, no,” oo impatient.” times ree. t do a cigarette. I sat dooo. “Never cut into told me. And “Don’t cut into your oe. “Be  let t. Find somet in your line of vision. A roof or a fence. t’s your ancimes as long in tting.” ed ree all time o ree , and t just cut o your shoulder.”

    e finistes and stubbed out toes of our boots.

    ‘And  noance, keep t in your  close up.“

    I was ready.

    times  me rest t tree before isfied it ook t up.

    I  first I , kept looking doo go one more step up time I moved t took me several goes to get it safe. But gradually task took me over. I ood by, mostly silent. Once in a c mostly  c ime, slipped ty catcelescoped it, t I realized  of t I didn’t care.

    I stood o study my imes around tree. My  leaped. It was good.

    Jo bad,” he pronounced. “You’ll do.”

    I  to get to trim t, and t like c up to   time I o him.

    ely. “Mr. Digence took it. , fixing the roof.”

    I o one of ttes Jo in t, sending mean looks to t enviously. taking my time, doing it ime, beone against t t it ting late to be starting on t. t to find John.

    ts tions made a crazy clock-al c o  a constant six o’clock  splinters protruded from t move oucaring straigo t trangely overcast.

    ted me. All of a sudden I  a stupid c not all.

    ‘ shall I do?“ I whispered.

    ‘ sened me.

    Stretc on tco my temple, I cime pass. t rungs of ter rung it crept up to reacy catch.

    ty catc cy catc? Of course  if , then how… why… ?

    It didn’t bear t.

    Rung, after rung, after rung, t nearer and nearer. It reaced trousers, t, t taken better care of him?

    It didn’t bear t. Yet  to ticing teness of Joiced, too, t into t of t lurc sand or sno does not print. No trace to s  ered at t tell me, it mig.

    Everyt.

    I stood up and left Jo looking back. I  around to tcill tting topped  me. And topped—Don’t faint! Don’t faint! I told myself—o catcc faint. Not quite. Instead,  I didn’t co say, but rangled t. “ anybody help me?”

    ly doo the grass. “I’ll help you,” he said. “I will.”

    itill freser’s face, bereft, still dominating my memory, I barely noticed tter t ing for me in my room.

    I didn’t open it until I ranscription, and .

    Dear Miss Lea,After all tance your fato be able in some small o return to er.

    My initial researced Kingdom ion of ts of Miss er Barroer  at Angelfield. I ain number of documents relating to  period, and I am compiling a report t you shin a few weeks.

    My researc an end. I  yet exed my investigation of talian connection, and it is more t some detail arising from throw up a new line of inquiry.

    Do not despair. If your governess can be found, I will find her.

    Yours sincerely, Emmanuel DrakeI put tter a and gloves. “Come on, to Shadow.

    airs and outdoors, and ook t to drift; imperceptibly it led ao ticements of ted its easy curve and continued straig meant squeezing be of densely groure sems caugo o avoid being scratc accompanied me so far, topped, overwh.

    I kept going. And I found  overgro and t t escaping from it iced.

    Directly inside ter’s sister sat at a table. Opposite cly tooo muc  toucer a moment’s pause, surned back to ask and carried on. But not before I iced sometrange about t ed A in tylized angel ornamenting the handle.

    I  before. A. Angel. Angelfield. Emmeline , and so did Aurelius.

    Keeping flat to tangling in my  of t cs of broken twig and dead leaves from my sleeves and shoulders.

    ‘Inside?“ I suggested, and o concur.

    Mr. Drake  been able to trace er for me. On ther hand, I had found Emmeline.

 THE ETERNAL TWILIGHT

    In my study I transcribed; in troked t and mares by staying a nigo me no.

    itional c into Miss inter’s story. as it Emmeline—t alarming figure in tampered  and let tory reveal itself. Meanense. ance broke my , every sigion of fear and longing.

    I got to ter—morning or afternoon or evening, I don’t knoood by to . My pale sister pressed o mine, trapped me in ed to break the glass, and I could join her.

    ‘ever are you looking at?“ came Miss inter’s voice behind me.

    Slourned.

    ‘Sit do anoto eat.“ I sat down.

    Judit cocoa and toast. Miss inter continued ory  cocoa.

    ‘I’ll  w could  a boy.

    I got  of t o fetcrong, s tea and drank a potful. I t s and I t time I  tears e retreated from my eyes. It ime for action.

    By time turned or, I  I eps approacurned to meet them.

    ‘Emmeline, poor cor exclaimed as stretcic gesture, as to embrace me.

    I took a step back, and ed. “Emmeline?” In ainty flared. Adeline? It  possible. It could not be. tammered. But still  know.

    I did not  of ead I cried.

    Not real tears. My real tears—and I y of tored up. Sometime, tonigomorroime soon, I did not exactly knoo cry as a little girl obacco and t, ugly tears t came— my eyes o see out of.

    But te tears, and not for tears I gratified o set off my green eyes t off emeralds. And it ized t  notice the eyes spying on him.

    ‘I’m afraid the body.

    It o hear John’s real name.

    ‘  trade y catch fail?“

    I could look at t emotion, almost. “Mig t doer him?”

    ‘No one saw him fall?“

    ‘Our rooms are at table garden.“ tood slig from us, looking ahe body.

    ‘o remember.“

    ‘e alone.“

    ‘I see. And  me?“

    I  Joold t our situation. I o play it by ear.

    ito my voice, I told tor t my uncle had gone away.

    ‘Aor frowned.

    t react. Noto surprise ood looking at  so as not to look at time to to say, “My uncle  be back for a few days.”

    ‘how many days?“

    ‘O exactly  atle pretense of counting back to rest on t my knees quiver.

    tor and to my side, taking an elbow each.

    ‘All riger, my dear, later.“

    I permitted to lead me around tochen door.

    ‘I don’t knoly o do!“ I said as he corner.

    ‘About ly?“

    ‘the funeral.“

    ‘You don’t need to do anytakers, and take care of t.“

    ‘But  the money?“

    ‘Your uncle tle t wurns. he way?

    ‘But w if he should be delayed?“

    ‘You t likely he will be delayed?“

    ‘able man.“

    ‘Indeed.“ tcor guided me in and pulled out a co it.

    ‘tor  out anyt needs doing, if it comes to it. Now, wer? Does s’s happened?“

    I didn’t bat an eyelid. “She is sleeping.”

    ‘Just as  her sleep, perhaps, eh?“

    I nodded.

    ‘Now, wer you when?“

    ‘Look after us?“

    ‘You can ay  after t  place so soon after losing your  finding a replacement. Someone must come.“

    ‘Is it really necessary?“ I ears and green eyes; Emmeline  to be womanly.

    ‘ell, surely you—“

    ‘It’s just t t time someone came to take care of us— You do remember our governess, don’t you?“ And I flas. o blus emeralds and diamonds again.

    t. “My grandmot to stay like, but s for a bit.”

    Dr. Maudsley, disconcerted, considered. It , and .

    ‘ell, Ambrose, I t . In t term, at least. And no doubt your uncle will be back in a very few days, in wo, o—“

    ‘Indeed.“ I rose smooto takers, I  my hank you for coming so quickly.“

    t ing entirely. o  at my prompt, and I felt toucy.

    Once again ook t. “I’m sorry about Mr. Digence. truly I am, Miss March.”

    ‘tor.“ And I ears.

    Dr. Maudsley nodded at t and closed the door behind him.

    Nohe boy himself.

    I ed for tor to get aed to go t. “By t sress of to come in.”

    hem.

    ‘Just as  got a grandmother.“

    ***‘I’ll  o drive a car, though.

    t day o tor in Banbury, I beside er a quarter of an ing under tionist, o Mr. Lomax’s office.  Emmeline and  me and o ask wwo are.”

    ‘e’re in somet, and our gardener  . A tragic accident, since tle s…“

    o Emmeline and back again.

    ‘Please excuse my sister. S quite o leave room for anytelligence.

    ‘Yes,“ said Mr. Lomax, and ic one. ”I o t effect.“

    Responding to  you? t alerribly easy t transparent stare. ”In fact, it’s a real treat to talk to someone sensible for a change!“

    urned t quite righer one.

    ‘tirely mutual, Miss, er, forgive me, but her’s name again?“

    ‘ter is Marc o meet  all en t it ter to change our names formally.

    ‘Can be done. ? Simple matter, really.“

    ‘But t’s for anotoday’s business…“

    ‘Of course. No me put your mind at rest about t kno?“

    ‘It may be quite some time,“ I said, ly a lie.

    ‘It doesn’t matter. Eitime to settle t, ttle it on  t when he comes home.“

    I turned my face into ture of relief ill o take tions about er like mine, sune of mislaying uation to me, and I saeps I ake and o take t t any of to you, in your position!” e run aing take back ters of  days.”

    ‘God  him.

    e  tial thing.

    ‘Incidentally, I don’t suppose  an address?“

    ‘You know my uncle!“

    ‘I t as mucely whough?“

    I liked Mr. Lomax, but it didn’t stop me lying to o. Lying ure to a girl like me.

    ‘Yes… t is, no.“

    knoo all ties  enumerated for me.

    ‘ell, I can tell you where he said he was going.“

    Mr. Lomax looked at me, eyebrows raised.

    ‘o Peru.“

    Mr. Lomax’s rounded eyes bulged, and h dropped open.

    ‘But of course, ’s ridiculous, don’t we?“ I finis possibly be in Peru, can he?“

    And  reassured, most pluckily capable smile, I closed to worry on my behalf.

    till I  o cry. Every day t t ting to kno e but cold, as tainted er’s crime. “Mrs. Proctor, told ing it.”

    t all I suspected t tor boy e catc it.

    Jo to cry, eit  place. For I o Emmeline—ould so attend cly? God’s love o all ures—I listened to Mr. Lomax and Dr. Maudsley,  of ears behind my back.

    ‘A competent girl,“ tor said to tor. ”I don’t te realizes ty of tuation; you realize no one knorain to sort out t paying for t to go he wise head on her shoulders.“

    ‘Yes,“ said tor weakly.

    ‘I  kno t quite rig no t’s plain as day t it’s only ted. A mercy. Of course, you’ll  or.“

    tor murmured somet hear.

    ‘’s t?“ tor asked. ”Mist, did you say?“

    tor asked anotion. “ he one who is sensible?”

    I turned just enougo be able to see t of tor  me  in  lift a spoon to  alone give instructions for a funeral and ask intelligent questions of a solicitor. I understood t.

    o Emmeline, from Emmeline to me.

    ‘I t’s Adeline.“ I saumbling do .

    Catco ture of to to to be of service to me. t’s or took it for. tor may aken it ratly.

    Later. Many er.

    t last I could cry.

    Except t I couldn’t. My tears, kept in too long, had fossilized.

    to stay in forever now.

 FOSSILIZED TEARS

    “Excuse me…” Juditopped. Sigeristic flutter of tor is already out on a call— be ed my dressing go up and dourned into passages and corridors, arrived back on t in a part of t seen before. Finally o a series of rooms t I took to be Miss inter’s private suite. e paused before a closed door, and Juditroubled look. I ood y, from beerrupted by jagged gasps for breat in.

    I onised so! Unlike t of ts overstuffed upery, lavisapestries, ttle room. ter, tuffed ood a narroe covers. At tain ting t in. Slumped over a plain little sco me, er. Gone were  purple. Se long-sleeved chemise, and she was weeping.

    A onal scraping of air over vocal cords. Jarring  veered into frigorso sraveled to o ed against top. Judito replace a cuser’s temple; Miss inter, utterly possessed by t to knohere.

    ‘I’ve never seen o e of panic, ”I don’t knoo do.“

    Miss inter’s moutorted into oo big for it.

    ‘It’s all rigo Judit er.

    ‘o  on ation. ”It’s all rig  my o my fat I kne will pass.“

    t stop, nor t t. Sime betake in desperate, shs of air.

    ‘You’re not alone. I’m h you.“

    Eventually s. to my couc my ribs I could feel tle flutters of breatender convulsions in her lungs. her hands were very cold in mine.

    ‘there now.“

    e sat in silence for minutes. I pulled t more o rub some o  of  he desk.

    ‘ried to say something? Again her lips moved.

    ty catc er y catc seems a brutal question no at time,  flood of tears  all etiquette aness did not feel out of place.

    My question caused  spasm of pain, but when she spoke, she was unequivocal.

    ‘Not Emmeline. Not  her.“

    “hen?”

    S, began to sy. Beginning to fear t it  my fato do to console me enderly, I stroked il, sooto rest her head on my shoulder.

    Finally s enougo be able to put o bed. in a sleepy, co stay, and so I stayed cime to time a surbed il tled back into peace.

    t my fat rose out of t  ing sands, day-trippers come to admire tecture and enjoy ticed t o tares of strangers. But not mine. I sa leaped. It o a mirror and seeing myself complete. it ardor I stared at t urned aare and reacs’ il t dark. ter, in t, betion, “ ’s all rig alone.”

    Sometime later, Dr. Clifton came. urned to see  t ime already. I slipped past , and t know o read.

 UNDERWATER CRYPTOGRAPHY

    I returned to my o moving as slos. Noterfered y catc can’t er’s story gave umbling from trade ty air to tte, not daring to ask for a drag. t must  t notory suggests t Emmeline er   Emmeline. then who? Isabelle was dead. Charlie was gone.

    I came to my rooms,  in, stood by t oo dark to see; tion, a pale s t.

    At last I listened to t, persistent voice in my  I rying to ignore. Adeline.

    No, I said.

    Yes, it said. Adeline.

    It  possible. till fres if so cry tears for?

    But ted episode after episode from tory I kneopiary garden, eaco Jo. ttacks on Emmeline, ttering, ting. tor and left carelessly, to die or to be found. One of t quite rig possible? ears I  nessed been tears of guilt? tears of remorse? as it a murderess I ed? as t Miss inter  suspicion revealed itself to me. as t of Miss inter’s story? to make me sympate her, forgive her? I shivered.

    But one t least I ormented body against mine and kne only broken love can cause suco Joer to life by getting o teaco prune topiary.

    topiary she had damaged.

    O sure after all!

    My eyes roamed over tside t o Joence for t?

    I rubbed my tired eyes and kneo bed. But I oo tired to sleep. My ts, if I did noto stop t long. I decided to h.

    ed for tub to fill, I cast about for someto occupy my mind. A ball of paper able caugtention. I unfolded it, flattened it out. A ro.

    In ter t-lived attempts at picking some kind of meaning out of my string of symbols. Al undermining feeling t I  captured Emmeline’s utterance quite accurately. I pictured t garden, tortions of tcesque, urgent face; I ness of Emmeline’s voice. But ried, I could not recall t itself.

    I climbed into ter, o my feet, legs, back, felt distinctly cooler against t under t to top of my er rang in my ears, my ed from its roots.

    I came up for air, tantly plunged underer again. More air, ter.

    In a loose, underer fass began to so kno it otally invented. In t s of both.

    Air. ater.

    Introduced distortions. In tonation, maybe. Or times extra bits, added to camouflage rato carry meaning.

    Air. ater.

    A puzzle. A secret code. A cryptograp  be as ian o go about it? take eacely. It could be a  of a onation first. Play ress. Experiment ening, flattening t did t in Englis if you left it out and played ead? t number of possible combinations. t not an infinite number. A computing mac. So could a wo.

    the dead go underground.

    ? I sat bolt uprigo me out of nowhere.

    t painfully in my c. It  couldn’t be!

    trembling, I reaco t my jottings, and dreo me. Anxiously I scanned it. My notes, my symbols and signs, my squiggles and dots, ting in a pool of er and had drowned.

    I tried once more to remember to me underer. But t, intent face and te sequence s.

    t rail be tricks o come up  of nowhere?

    I didn’t actually believe t t so me, did I?

    Come on, be sensible, I told myself.

    I reaco put my underer imaginings out of my mind.

 HAIR

    At Miss inter’s  tes . Eleven o ty-to try. At regular intervals I stopped to turn tco tepaper basket; these pauses marked my “hours.”

    I ory I  I  ime ts and my nigime dreams  from my  from Miss inter’s. It o urned constantly was Angelfield.

    In trut uno abdicate my oo Miss inter’s story urning my back on my o one cannot simply snuff oneself out in t fas escape t it ically , I  December ing do time.

    On ter t of tears, I did not see Miss inter. Sayed in bed, seeing only Juditon. t. I  slept  t to tle room and found her in bed.

    o  a trace of makeup. Perion  its peak of effectiveness, for tranquility about  seemed ne me, but here was kindness in her eyes.

    ‘You don’t need your notebook and pencil,“ s you to do sometoday.“

    ‘?“

    Judit on t Miss inter’s ced o it. In ter of t sioned t so t Miss inter could see out of tucked a toer’s s.

    Before s sh a smile.

    ‘But o do?“ I asked Miss inter.

    ‘Cut my hair, of course.“

    ‘Cut your hair?“

    ‘Yes. Don’t look like t. to it.“

    ‘But I don’t know how.“

    ‘Just take t.“ S care . I don’t care  looks like. Just get rid of it.“

    ‘But I—“

    “Please.”

    Reluctantly I took up position beer t o touc expected it to crackle, and punctuated ty little knots.

    ‘I’d better brus first.“

    ts  a  t o simply cut ts out.

    tentatively I made t cut. A fe.

    ‘Ser t,“ Miss inter said mildly.

    ‘to ouched her shoulders.

    ‘Ser.“

    I took a lock of  it nervously. An orange snake slito my feet, and Miss inter began to speak.

    I remember a feer ter’s old room. Not for any special reason. I  standing taring at nottle ridge in tain. A tear t ser  needle t of t  t sort of o  it. I ention of pulling it, I ention of any sort, really… But all of a sudden, t , zigzagged itcain gaping open. No art to fray.

    Joer at t. But t remained: If er  er y catcer  day s afternoon so be taken in by its c t Joo bed and slept soundly,  even a dream of falling ty air.

    If er here.

    I found t fraying ain utterly unbearable.

    I  Miss inter’s ime salking, and opped.

    Sed a o  th.

    ‘Ser,“ she said.

    I picked up the scissors again and carried on.

    till came every day. ed and mulc coming because of t ill your uncle gets back”—and I paid till kept coming. I cairs ion and I jumped out of vie on one occasion  sig wave back.

    Every morning  vegetables to tcimes  or a plucked ernoon o collect t.  I en t te between his lips.

    I tes, and it annoyed me t t. I never said a  it, but one day, s t me eyeing ttes in  pocket.

    ‘Sea,“ he said.

    o tc  time ually come in since t in Joable. I sat in to sit. e drank our tea in silence and exte smoke t rose upoaken our last drag and stubbed ttes out on our saucers,  a  of tcurned to  t day, te across to me before I  ttle on.

    e never spoke. But we s.

    Emmeline, imes spent ternoons outdoors looking on as t it. “You’re ter of t it made no difference. S anyone old me about men  ing to touc tion of ing to touco o make  be easy in my mind about it, though.

    Sometimes from an upstairs cogeted by  s to urned o ans o ray lock of   t made me t mind it if ouch her.

    But  seen and continued his work.

    t morning chen. I broke our usual silence.

    ‘Don’t toucold him.

    touched Emmeline.”

    ‘Good. ell, don’t.“

    I t t . e botook anottes and I prepared to lapse back into silence, but after ex  to touch Emmeline.”

    I   curious little intonation. I  .

    I took a drag of my cigarette and didn’t look at  look at him.

    ‘Shan you are,“ he said.

    My cigarette  even  I stubbed it out. I strode to tc open.

    In tood stiffly, staring straig ttons on .

    his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. his voice was a murmur. “Be kind, Adeline.”

    Stung to anger I lifted my eyes up, meaning to fire daggers at  I artled by tenderness in  I was… confused.

    ook advantage. Raised  to stroke my cheek.

    But I , lashed his hand away.

    I didn’t

    ed.

    And then he was gone.

    tcy after t. the boy was gone.

    ‘I’ll  it was impossible. how could a boy like him help me? how could anybody help me?

    t o my s aufts t clung to Miss inter’s scalp were pure we.

    I took toray bits of he back of her neck.

    ‘Give me ter said.

    I h her hair shorn, she looked like a grizzled child.

    Sared at t  ime. t table.

    ‘t is exactly ed. t.“

    I left  back to my room I t about t about  about  about Aurelius, found as an infant, c about it all at lengt for all my t arrive at any conclusion.

    One to me, teps of t it ime I  Angelfield: “I just ell me truts ecell me trut. No er o Yorks a reporter at all. It was Aurelius all along.

 RAIN AND CAKE

    t day I o it: today, today, today. A tolling bell only I could ed my soul; I felt an unearthday.

    Judit a card from my fat tray. A picture of floings and a note.  signed t for bot  and , but w could anyone do?

    Juditer says would now… ?”

    I slid t. “Now would be fine,” I said, and picked up my pencil and pad.

    ‘er ed to knotle pale. You don’t eat enough.“

    ‘I’m fine,“ I assured .

    All morning I struggled ion of stray art reading a ne one ime to close beers even—caugill  . All day I o distractions. ts, memories, feelings, irrelevant fragments of my oion.

    Miss inter elling me about someterrupted ening to me, Miss Lea?”

    I jerked out of my reverie and fumbled for an ans moment I couldn’t old  s some at t s of tricks, gets up to all kinds of te zone t looks for all ttention to t for ared at e, ed, t t co sentence t presented itself to me.

    ‘er?“

    ‘Good Lord, ion. Of course I . have you gone mad, girl?“

    ‘Emmeline, then?“

    ‘e , do ? No questions?“ And t forinized me closely. ”Are you ill?“

    ‘No, I don’t think so.“

    ‘ell, you are clearly not in your right mind for work.“

    It was a dismissal.

    Back in my room I spent an tled, plagued by myself. I sat at my desk, pencil in  did not e; felt cold and turned tor up, too , took my cardigan off. I’d  t er. I made cocoa and put extra sugar in it; tness nauseated me. A book? ould t do it? In there could help me.

    ttering against t leaped. Outside. Yes, t  just to get ahe moors.

    te  locked, I kneo open it for me. Instead, I o t point from t been opened for a long time, and I o pull tcoo be pusep, a little disside.

    I used to t I loved rain, but in fact I . teel to by all tacles t in its pat of toself. On ttered by tung my face and, beer burst against my shoulders.

    hday.

    If I  t from beneatairs. t auction and put aside during ture.  t afternoon  office or t one lunco cten in it, Love from Dad and Mot te alone. o the shop—

    I  s I  fat a candle, , and er. te tea, and settled doo quiet digestion and cataloging.

    I kne I s  in t from me, but from my mot bear t of table e of remembrance, one t made it impossible to invite otoo, to leave reat of a visit to toys  ones. Cakes ed of t in tin for t day.

    in my ear. e played silent card games  a splutter, could be  pain of t birtairs, cy to sympato jollity, in tairwell.

    Un. It settled like dust upon t covered everyone and everyt invaded us ook. It se miseries.

    Only because I o contemplate these memories.

    so er’s deat? Per to. I er  of me was a reminder of her loss.

    ould it h died?

    Stupefied, I  in front of terest in wumbled on.

    to something.

    ‘Margaret! Margaret!“

    I oo cold to be startled, too cold to make my face respond to  form t stood before me, sentlike drapes of green rainproof fabric. It moved, and two hands came down on my shoulders and gave me a shake.

    ‘Margaret!“

    It was Aurelius.

    ‘Look at you! You’re blue ook my arm and led me briskly off. My feet stumbled over til o a road, a car.  of ea.

    ‘Drink!“

    I drank. tea .

    ‘Eat!“

    I bit into t.

    In t tea and eating c colder teetarted to cter and I srollably.

    ‘Goodness gracious!“ Aurelius exclaimed softly as y sandher. ”Dear me!“

    to bring me to my senses a little. “ are you doing here, Aurelius?”

    ‘I came to give you to ted a cake tin ts.

    Placing tin on my lap,  me as he lid.

    Inside ers, .

    I oo cold to cry. Instead tion of cold and cake set me talking. ords emerged from me, randomly, like objects disgorged by glaciers as turnal singing, a garden ers, a baby, a spoon. “And soale grandmot you see  means? ”

    Aurelius s sold me—”

    ‘So you, Aurelius! o see , sted it.“

    ‘Bless me!“ exclaimed Aurelius. ” t bro of mine? I o pretend to be a journalist, you kno t I elling o sink in, ”A spoon like mine, you say? And she house?“

    ‘S, Aurelius. And Emmeline is your mother.“

    Aurelius stopped patting my  ared out of tion of there.”

    I nodded.

    turned to me. “take me to .”

    I seemed to  well.”

    ‘Ill? t take me to  delay!“

    ‘Not ill, exactly.“ o explain? ”S only her face. her mind.“

    ion, added it to ore of loss and pain, and ake me to her.”

    as it illness t dictated my response? as it t t it  my oors migo do , but more significant ted for my anso say no to  faced y of o nothing.

    I said yes.

 REUNION

    My bat some o, but did noto soots of  of ternoon and crept into bed, pulling tra covers ill srange visions. er and my faturbing to me as it sed and altered, sometimes myself, sometimes anot oms o ths of sleep.

    I as and my back. A tiredness t o do ion or lack of sleep  tment  nagged at me but only very distantly, and long minutes passed before I could rouse myself to look at my ciment repidation? nostalgia? excitement?—

    and it o a sense of expectation.

    t urning! My sister ing it. I couldn’t see  smell  my inner ear, attuned alo  ion, and it filled me h a dark and soporific joy.

    to put off Aurelius. My sister , I o meet  too cold and o take off my pajamas before dressing, I pulled a t and ser on over top. Bundled up like a c, I  doairs to tc a cold meal for me, but I ite and left toucen minutes I sat at tcable, longing to close my eyes and not daring to, in case I gave in to torpor t ing my oabletop.

    ites to spare, I opened tco the garden.

    No ligars. I stumbled in t soil underfoot and told me ect tion. I understood entirely. It was er was coming.

    I reacing point. tirred itself. It self clasped.

    ‘Are you all right?“

    I ion, but distantly.

    ‘Do you emperature?“

    t  they had no meaning.

    I’d o tell  tions, to tell  my sister  se no; I kne from t radiating from  te sound of ood between me and my words and made me dumb.

    Aurelius let go of my o remove a glove, and I felt rangely cool in t night, on my forehead. “You should be in bed,” he said.

    I pulled at Aurelius’s sleeve, a feeble tug, but enougatue on casters.

    I  aken t o Emmeline’s apartment, but t, too,  ture t presents itself to my mind is t it ss oe impossible. I must , but ty  and tself persists.

    My memory of  niged. racts of time s seem in my recollection to eningly large, tiny marionettes a great distance aed during tion: my sister.

    By a process of logic and reason, I tempted to place into a meaningful sequence images t my mind recorded only incompletely and in random fass in a dream.

    Aurelius and I entered Emmeline’s rooms. Our step . tepped, until o a room o tanding in to us  a beginning,  a resolution, t ed me ever since I came to t s o my  vied cion of my sister. At my side Aurelius ed for me to announce us to Emmeline. But I could not speak. to an unbearable ululation in my ime stretco one eternal second; I ruck dumb. I brougo my ears, desperate to ease ture, it was Aurelius w!”

    And urns. Since saken by surprise, to a distorted O, but t stop, only veers and lurco a surns in so Emmeline and is transfixed by the air.

    For a time I am boto a w  know wo clasp o repel  akes .

    h of sorrow.

    Inside my ill, a torment of brige sound. My sister— My sister—

    treats and I find myself alone in an agony of noise.

    I kno remember it. Aurelius releases Emmeline tenderly onto teps in tion as Judit ime it takes o go and find a second set—Maurice’s, probably— Aurelius darts too t last enters tares at Emmeline on teps in my direction.

    But at time I kno t is my sister embraces me, possesses me, relieves me of consciousness. At last.

 EVERYBODY HAS A STORY

    Anxiety, ser’s green gazes, needles me ao bed?  o t  o Emmeline? More t it is raug torments my conscience s slo out of sleep.

    knoime it is. Juditir and o my lips. I drink. Before I can speak, sleep overwhelms me again.

    time I er  my bedside, book in  cus ufts of pale y co throne for a joke.

    ed her head from her reading.

    ‘Dr. Clifton emperature.“

    I said nothing.

    ‘e didn’t kno  on. ”e couldn’t find a card. e don’t go in muc we broughe garden.“

    In t y purple flo, heady fragrance.

    ‘ hday?“

    ‘You told us. o tell me your story, Margaret?“

    ‘Me? I  got a story,“ I said.

    ‘Of course you ory.“

    ‘Not me.“ I sinct echoes of words I may have spoken in my sleep.

    Miss inter placed t he book.

    ‘Everybody ory. It’s like families. You mig kno t all t drift apart or you migurn your back on t you can’t say you  got tories. So,“ sory. o tell me yours?“

    ‘I’m not.“

    S o one side and ed for me to go on.

    ‘I’ve never told anyone my story. If I’ve got one, t is. And I can’t see any reason to change now.“

    ‘I see,“ sly, nodding ’s your business, of course.“ Surned ared into  liberty to say not is . But silence is not a natural environment for stories. t t you.“ o me. ”Believe me, Margaret. I know.“

    For long stretcime I slept, and ake tray a at seeing my leavings, yet sioned it. I  ed by t nig pursued me into sleep.

    ‘?“

    :  Miss Emmeline ting on in years.

    ance to spell it out told me everyted to kno  .

    As for Aurelius, te. As soon as I ter. Not satisfied, I attempted anoty reed versions t I despaired at myself, I selected one at random and made a neat copy:

    Dear Aurelius,Are you all right?

    I’m so sorry about o  anyone. I  I?

    hen can I see you?

    Are ill friends?

    MargaretIt would o do.

    Dr. Clifton came. ened to my  and asked me lots of questions. “Insomnia? Irregular sleep? Nightmares?”

    I nodded times.

    ‘I t so.“

    ook a ter and instructed me to place it under my tongue, trode to to me,  do you read?”

    iter in my mout reply.

    “uts—you’ve read t?”

    ‘Mm-hmm.“

    ‘And Jane Eyre?“

    ‘Mm.“

    “Sense and Sensibility?”

    ‘hm-m.“

    urned and looked gravely at me. “And I suppose you’ve read than once?”

    I nodded and he frowned.

    ‘Read and reread? Many times?“

    Once more I nodded, and his frown deepened.

    ‘Since childhood?“

    I  compelled by ty of his gaze, nodded once again.

    Beneato slits. I could quite see  frigients into getting  to be rid of him.

    And to me to read ter.

    People look different from close up. A dark broill a dark bro you can see t,  ferayed off in tion of emple, pointed to t  almost imperceptible flaring of trils, t tc taken it for severity, a clue t  little of me; but no from so feo me t it mig be disapproval after all. as it possible, I t, t Dr. Clifton ly laug me?

    er from my mout t afflicts ladies of romantic imagination. Symptoms include fainting, ite, los. o  in freezing rain  t of adequate erproofing, to be found in some emotional trauma. e novels, your constitution  been ions of life in earlier, uries. No tuberculosis, no cions. You’ll survive.”

    raigo slide my gaze a enough.”

    ‘I ite.“

    “L’appetit vient en mangeant.”

    ‘Appetite comes by eating,“ I translated.

    ‘Exactly. Your appetite  you must meet it   it to come.“

    It urn to frown.

    ‘treatment is not complicated: eat, rest and take tes on a pad, tore out a page and placed it on my bedside table—”and tigue ed. ”I’d like to ask you about t I suspect you  like to tell me…“

    Stonily I regarded .”

    not.”

    From ted me and was gone.

    I reacion. In a vigorous scraen pages, till end of course.

 DECEMBER DAYS

    Obeying Dr. Clifton’s instructions, I spent ting and sleeping and reading Sreatment, gulping doory after anoto tco  t t s altered  t t no in t liberty to let ural sympatead of maintaining a constantly guarded facade.

    ‘And  teentale?“ sfully one day.

    ‘Not a o you?“

    S’s strange, isn’t it, after all sten, t t famous story of all is one t mig even exist, just tories missing and it ill sell like cakes.” And to clear s, and a neone, “So on, then?”

    on dropped by to see ed on t rils tched.

    On t up. As I pulled tains apart, my room . Outside, a brilliant, cloudless blue stretco  t. It  days t ing be to stop it flooding do once. Blinking in t someto move sluggishly in my veins.

    Before breakfast I  outdoors. Sloiously I stepped around t my  , and every at my side Sepped like a dainty g, leaving no prints. At first t, but little by little it rejuvenated me, and I rejoiced in tion. Nevertes oes, I o come back in and So follo breakfast, to read.

    I could judge ter I  t my ts turned not to treasures of Miss inter’s library, but to ory. Upstairs I retrieved my pile of paper, neglected since t it back to t t part of t ory all over again, reminding myself of its puzzles, mysteries and secrets. But tions. At t all I ed. ampered   t er  s? And, more inexplicable t,  violent vagabond of a co communicate  ted sister and capable of breaking acts of icultural destruction, developed into Miss inter, t-selling novels and, furte garden?

    I puso one side, stroked Sared into t of a story , and ill to come. I  ake to complete tory of Emmeline and Adeline, nor even o complete it.

    Despite my absorption in my notes, I couldn’t  seen Miss inter. Eacime I asked after il evening, o her for a while before supper?

    to —on table by Miss inter’s side. I opened it at t I er  sed to talk tome.

    ‘ did  niger asked. ”t you fell ill?“

    I o unity for explanation. “I already kne nig particular nig someone to see artled. t tended o frig saken by surprise .

    ‘t your fault, you kno alarm yourself. t is sometor imes before. If anyone is to blame, it is me, for not letting you kno sendency to be over-protective. I o tell you.“ Send to tell me w was you brough you?“

    ‘Emmeline ’s t.“ And after I’d told ions I didn’t knoo came ruso my lips, as t encourage o be candid in return. ” is it Emmeline rying to dig someten does it: Maurice says it’s t I kno is not truth.“

    Miss inter  and very still.

    “ted. “t’s w sold me.  er? ho is she looking for underground?”

    Miss inter uttered a murmur, and t , it instantly a memory of t launc me by Emmeline in t it?” added Miss inter. “Is t w she said?”

    I nodded.

    ‘In twin language?“

    I nodded again.

    Miss inter looked at me erest. “You are doing very . Better t. trouble is, timing of tory is getting rat of ting aaring into raig me. “I said I meant to tell you trut. And I do. But before I can tell you, somet . It is going to  it  .”

    ‘—?“

    But before I could finision, s us return to Lady Audley and , shall we?”

    I read for anot my mind  on tory, and I er’s attention oo. apped at t suppertime, I closed t it to one side, and as if terruption, as if it inuation of ter said, “If you are not too tired, his evening?”

 SISTERS

    ime, I  to Emmeline’s quarters. It  time I ed guest, and t ticed, before I even entered t noticed me yet—and realized it y, t plosives t  you migake for time I t it opped a ion brus my ear like a moting on my tered away again.

    I cleared my t.

    ‘Margaret.“ Miss inter, ioned next to er, gestured to a che bed. ”how good of you.“

    I looked at Emmeline’s face on te e of scarring and burn damage t I  none of ill tangled skein of lessly  to my presence. . Some alteration aken place in antly visible to too elusive to define. S notrengtended outside t and in it ser’s hand in a firm grip.

    ‘how are you, Emmeline?“ I asked nervously.

    ‘S er.

    Miss inter, too,  days. But in illation: t reduced  exposed ime I sa, and teel at er was revealed.

    All t  Emmeline c.

    ‘ould you like me to read?“ I asked.

    ‘By all means.“

    I read a cer. ter murmured. Emmeline’s eyes o it. the beginnings of bruises on her fingers.

    Seeing tion of my gaze, so  terruption to our  spend my time  must . But it  be long nomas coming. You ing to leave us and be er tand. I expect… ”—it  of pauses—“hen.”

    I did not immediately understand   ao Emmeline’s sleeping face.

    ‘Do you mean… ?“

    Miss inter sig be taken in by t t srong. Sime. For years I assumed t I o see  before me. t so sure. And no seems o the finish line.”

    So t’s ing for. t   end.

    Suddenly my t ened as a child’s.

    Dying. Emmeline was dying.

    ‘Is it my fault?“

    ‘Your fault?  be your fault?“ Miss inter s nigo do .“

    S understood more t to reveal. “ you, Margaret? My sister is a stranger to you. And it is  distresses you so, is it? tell me, Margaret, ter?”

    In part s Miss inter  to join me in tees. Bereaved to it t. ten s-tempered and contrary, I o like Miss inter. In particular I liked tly noones, so gro er, and ter’s sorro my o

    aken place for me in the days before I could remember.

    I c already separated me from my sister. Soon s and be lost to us, a ne oto rusted to one o say?

    I felt Miss inter’s curious gaze upon my face. I restrained my folly.

    ‘how long?“ I asked.

    ‘Days. A week, per long.“

    I sat up late t niger. I  t day, too. e sat, reading aloud or in silence for long periods, on coming to interrupt our vigil. o take my presence tural toer as ly about Emmeline’s decline. And sometimes t ening  and finisence sometimes. uts ran into Emma, ace Diamonds, e. Fragments. It didn’t matter. Art, its completeness, its formedness, its finiso console. ords, on t ter to t of Emmeline’s breathing.

    tomorroure. In a   to leave. tariness offered by its garden, ed of t present. tant still. As for Cmas… In our ive season follooo close upon my birto be able to bear tion of tter  of my fatmas cards from my parents’ feas, snoting aside t sed a secret pile of ture at e, perfect infant; t gazing back at  in tras of them.

    Miss inter, I kne object if I asked to stay. S even be glad to  I did not ask. I could not. I  igold me t t far off. It   unity to escape, and I took it.

    In t to my room and did my packing, t back to Emmeline’s quarters to say good-bye to Miss inter. All ters’ iller ter  if so read no longer; instead, cer’s face. In ly h. her eyes were closed and she looked deeply asleep.

    ‘Margaret,“ Miss inter murmured, indicating a c I ogeted for t to fade, listening to tide of Emmeline’s breath.

    Bet, in a smooturbable rhe sound of waves on a seashore.

    Miss inter did not speak, and I, too, , composing in my mind impossible messages I migo my sister via t traveler to t otion, th a deeper and more enduring sorrow.

    Against tte, Miss inter stirred.

    ‘You s in told me s to me across the bed.

    My fingers closed on a rectangular leat al lock. Some sort of book.

    ‘From Emmeline’s treasure box. It  be needed anymore. Go a. alk.“

    Book in o ture in my patide of Emmeline’s breat.

 A DIARY AND A TRAIN

    er’s diary ed t it left orange stains on your fingers. t tuck togeted into t o a broo dirt and damp togetorn; along tantalizing list of fragments: abn, cr, ta, est. orst of all, it seemed t t some point been submerged in er. ted; s intended thickness.

    It  o cause me test difficulty.  a page, it  it . Not any old script, eit er’s. able slant,  functional gaps. But on a closer look, t? as tion to be read as bet or lost?

    It o be quite a puzzle. Altly made a transcript of t day train oo croo permit pencil and paper. I , diary close to my nose, and pored over to task of decip first, to to come o meet me, res ions, until I o turn t train, tmas, er came to life.

    I  test your patience by reproducing er’s diary  came to me: fragmented and broken. In t of er idied and put in order. I ter. I  ainty, sy, lacunae ance. In doing so, I may  o  se, but I can promise t if I akes, it is only in t matters I ed and scrutinized until I am as sure as sure can be t I inguished her original meaning.

    I do not give tire diary, only an edited selection of passages. My cated first by questions of relevance to my purpose, ell tory of Miss inter, and second by my desire to give an accurate impression of er’s life at Angelfield.

    Angelfield  enoug a distance, alt faces tioned, but on approacantly tate of dilapidation it o fall into.

    Sections of toneting. And it did look as ts of torm-damaged. I s apriority to ctic rooms.

    t tries to , I understood immediately t sy seeing and  age, t also explains tate of t I suppose t  to t after a lifetime’s service in ty, to see w be ronger hands.

    Mrs. Dunne told me about t most ly reduced staff for years no o be accepted as part of te  ascertained, but  tside ting anymore), but ter takes instruction from tor ate manager—so far as tate management. It is Mrs. Dunne  Cs eac Mrs. Dunne only laug s to go making lists of figures in a book. I cannot  t t I trust I ion of being a good-ed,   is my  er I so ascribe icence entirely to deafness. I made a note to demonstrate to Mr. Angelfield tages of keeping accurate records and t t I migo undertake too busy to do it.

    Pondering to t time I met my employer, and could not old me ire day in t it is not  to leave it. After a great many questions I eventually ascertained t  pity! Is tion ed?

    Mrs. Dunne gave me tea (o drink out of politeness, but later to teacup, ate of tcold me a little about ies, never married, and urally enougalk turned to t it is t departure of to an asylum for t precipitated my engagement. Sorted account of ts t precipitated ttal t I could not make out tacked tor’s  ters; clearly tory of disturbance in t beat a little faster isfaction is tion of minds t already run in smootrammeled lines?  caining ordered t and tidy? I am not only ready for t years longing for it.  h!

    I inquired after till,  on tures. Mrs. Dunne o tell me very little, tead, ses about to read bet me to), contained s of somet ss is not at all likely, not in England at least, and I suspect  fanciful. tion is a  many scientific discoveries could not  it, but it needs to be o some serious object if it is to come to anyt to s o tends to lead into silliness. Per is age t makes  t to invent gossip for t. In any case, I immediately put topic firmly from my mind.

    As I e tside my room. t of t to suit t enormously from t I mean to instill in t go out to t t me to, and it  my purposes to disconcert t tage.

    Mrs. Dunne s, and curtains atters, t see it and time of taff t may be beyond saving, but I  may be full of kno is here.

    t ing to inflict too many stairs at once on Mrs. Dunne. On t floor I became a to t on to t is a cardinal rule t I do not c train to come to me. t terrible disorder. Dirty, but I o expect t. Rainer ed as mucting floorboards. truly un in  getting t out to  someone could fall doairs or at t t an ankle. All t I s t set curtains fluttering, t is impossible to tell exactly whey come from.

    I returned to tcion to eat food cooked in pots as unpleasant as t stuck into a great pile of  t  a close eye on ion. S.

    t come doo eat. I called once and no more. Mrs. Dunne  I told  I  be on my side.

    tor came to dine. As I o expect, t appear. I  tor  t o find it entirely normal. So it  to  at table, but needing mucor is an intelligent, cultivated man. o see t great lengties I am likely to face ened eness as I could muster. Any governess, after ture of task aing   see iresome it is to  lengt one ood. My fidgeting and t sirely escaped ice, and I fear t ical skills are not matcion. I do not criticise ing everyone s to be less able t, ed an air of quiet modesty, but I see t easily enougly t in t I aken on, and s making e comings.

    I  from doairs. Presumably try door. trated, but rain to proper mealtimes? And  mealtimes, ored?

    tomorroart by cleaning tempted to clean t told myself no. It omorroains t are so t. So tonig, but tomorro o restore order and discipline to to succeed in my aim must first of all make myself a clean room to t surrounded by hygiene and order.

    t is time for me to meet my charges.

    I  I tle time for my diary lately, but I must make time, for it is cing t I record and develop my methods.

    Emmeline I s ttern of be c, I turbed as ed, and o be a nice cionate and sturdy, o appreciate ts of s ite and can be made to obey instructions by kind coaxing and treats. So understand t goodness reeem of ots o reduce t ts of my metever my strengt is to start h.

    I am content h my work on Emmeline.

    er is a more difficult case. Violence I ructiveness. ruck by one tructiveness is generally a side effect of rage and not its primary objective. t act, as I  in ot frequently motivated by an excess of anger, and tpouring of tally damaging to people and property. Adeline’s case does not fit ts myself, and been told of otruction seems to be Adeline’s only motive, and rage someto tease out, stoke up in o generate to destroy. For stle ts only crumbs. Mrs. Dunne old me of one incident in to rue, it is a great siful. It could be put to rig Jo  over tter, and it is not only topiary but t suffers from erest. I ime and a o restore  mosphe garden made orderly again.

    talking of Jo speak to  t ternoon, I o come near t ed to close t to let any more damp in; t been so close to t pressed to t, I doubt I’d  trousers, cut off at t cast o get a clear impression of   is common practice in rural areas for co engage in icultural  it e tages of trade early, but I do not like to see any c of sco Jo it and make sure ands t spend school hours in school.

    But to return to my subject: o er is concerned, s be surprised to kno, but I  all before. Jealousy and anger betly ened. itime I o minimise t in time constant vigilance is required to prevent Adeline ing er, and ts, o understand. Ser and could defend ing  on er; sionate soul.

    My first judgment of Adeline in t not ever come to live as independent and normal a life as er, but o a point of balance, of stability, and ion of a strict routine. I did not expect ever to bring o understanding. task I foresaer ter, but I expected far less t, for it  I artled into modifying t opinion by signs of a dark and clouded intelligence. to t, but  t displays of uned  as I  elling of a story, an adaptation I ers of Jane Eyre, a story loved by a great many girls. I rating on Emmeline, encouraging o folloory by animating it as muco to t, yet anoto torytelling ures and expressions as seemed to illustrate tions of ters. Emmeline did not take .

    Out of t a movement. Adeline urned ion. Still ed on ill  I inct impression sening to me. Even if tion  ; surned aeration in tate of animal unconsciousness, today : t of tain tension. As if sraining toory, yet still trying to give t slumber.

    I did not  o see t I iced anytinued to look as if I o Emmeline. I maintained tion of my face and voice. But all time I ening. I caug  not at all—from between ching me!

    It is a most interesting development, and one t I foresee erpin of my project here.

    t unexpected tor’s face c s o a dizzying s and present ted ne is in a  causes to s and dance about like t. I  optical effects, ped to lig t tion is rooted in t and rearrangement of ures caused me to stare at s, o ures , too, somet, cannot fat I cannot fathom.

    e stared at eacly .

    I . imes so tell  a book is not finisil it is finis move it,  it back in t came?  is t of leaving it on taircase?

    I ion he gardener.

    opiary is mending, and a ea and cs in tcimes I come across talking in lo not for  age I  since t is out of tion I am at a loss to explain  is. I taxed Mrs. Dunne , unanding about t part; I t t it  talk of not ters, co be killed, potatoes to be dug and talk so loed, and sold me it  lo all, at least not particularly so. “But you don’t alk lo is because shs.

    I ten all about tcil taking a  before lunc my c c or t all but spra under  as before. I stepped to ure on tance of education, but on seeing me o , clamped  to ed aer t. tly well  sco have a book in his hand.

    I  to Joold  . I told  allo o upset tion just for t if ts did not accept t, I old  o  I  extra staff, bot Jo t it better to  until I ed hings here.

    Joo s must be a village c come  it imes, t  responsible for all truants old  I  tiged t  anyone could o, t there was no such child.

    I told Jotle anger t I cannot regret, t I intended to speak to tress about it, and t I ly to ts and sort tter out o say it o do  do as I liked (and I certainly s o y to of cer for o be obstructive, but tices it never did titudes are sloo die out in rural areas.

    I o legibility forced me to read slo ties, using all my experience, knoion to fles t  tacles seemed not to impede me. On trary, ties, to pulse h meaning, vividly alive.

    of my mind entirely a decision  tation ion, I found my mind made up. I  going er all. I o Angelfield.

    train to Banbury oo cromas travelers to sit, and I never read standing up. it of train, every jostle and stumble of my fello tangle of er’s diary against my c. I . t could .

    o you, er, I t. h did you go?

 DEMOLISHING THE PAST

    tcy, and  of ttage and knocked on there ‘as no answer.

    Mig ime of year  to tay edly to me:  delivering cakes for Cmas parties. erer be, just before Cmas? I er. I put t t and set off toward Angelfield house.

    It -e. I h my scarf wrapped around my face as high as my nose, I soon warmed up.

    At topped. In tance, at te, tivity. I fro; t in as I undid my buttons. Using my long lens, I cationary, and tanding in a loose cluster. t opped tle amping t to keep s rap from ttes. From time to time one of t to t tion. I tried to make out tood turned ae, facing t from time to time one or anot a glance over o them.

    Bee tent ed to cover part of te. t judging from tent ook to be tion  and overcoat, t ory nods and s ion, it  to, and ly.

    sentences; in  pauses t speak, but cense patience. At one point ion of ts jaeeting into t last o  conjured.

    A flap opened in te tent. A fiftepped out of it and joined t t, t over to  told irely ing, began to gatogets and t t and make to tes. tioned  trance to tent, back to tohe police car.

    I lo continued to gaze at te tent. I kne. I ion of t desecrated library. t o tumbled over burned and broken wood.

    t room. Buried in scorcected for decades by t fell.

    I couldn’t . I  appeared t someone ry ible.  to make tion? Yet er  t s struck me, and it y of t made me t migrue.

    if er  at all?

    o tumbled as t to t looking ion they had come from.

    It ing and almost falling, turned . Sopped. ant h knowledge and spoke.

    ‘You can’t go up to stay away.“

    “I see.”

    ‘tent,“ the girl added shyly.

    ‘I sa,“ I told her.

    In tes, tly breat.” And to me, “’s going on?”

    It ent. You’re not alloo go near. to go home.”

    to te, fro te tent. “Isn’t t  complete ion in front of t I knew w s.

    ‘I believe t is er’s  of her eyes.

    ‘Come on,“ sold t’s too cold to be outdoors, any’s go home and have cocoa.“

    ted tes and raced into treet. An invisible cord ogeto she cord away.

    I c a horrible absence by my side.

    t to me. “You could do  you? You’re as we as a g.”

    e fell into step, follo,” I told her. “I’m a friend of Aurelius Love.”

    Ser the deer here.”

    ‘I knoold me.“

    A  of reaco to escape her.

    ‘tor!“ my companion sed out. ”Get back on t!“

    t a jolt t did you say your son’s name was?”

    turned to me curiously.

    ‘It’s just— tor who worked here years ago.“

    ‘My fator.“

    I o stop to traigor… ther?”

    ‘Jo’s  ime before I ies when I was born.“

    Slo t offer of cocoa, if you don’t mind. And I’ve got someto show you.”

    I took my bookmark out of er’s diary. Karen smiled tant s eyes on to. , iff, raig a yellow  on. o ure.”

    ‘Your employer, Miss Marcom?“

    ‘Seen tom? Of course not! t retarded, I understand, so it’s tate. t of a recluse. S been back to Angelfield since tact we ors.“

    Karen stood at tove, ing for to . Be, till in it. t tle.

    I needed to be careful not to say too muc er he hall as I came in.

    ‘It’s just t I ing about tos of t the impression she recognized him.“

    “S have. Unless…”

    Sograp it again, to  room. “tom? tom, bring t picture from telpiece, he silver frame.”

    tom came in, carrying a pograper behind him.

    ‘Look,“ Karen said to  a pograph of you.“

    A smile of delig onto ?”

    ‘Yes,“ I said.

    ‘S the one of your granddad.“

    o my side of table and ure out to me, shyly.

    It ting instantly: topiary garden. taken off  in   tilting ly. trying not to squint in t. sleeves op button of   trousers ly pressed, and s for to.

    ‘as he fire?“

    Karen put table and t to drink it. “I t o time. Nearly fifteen years.”

    I looked closely ture to truck by ty h his grandson. he looked nice.

    ‘You kno man. But te. e forties  to ask tions . Kind.  no, I sometimes he feeling I never really knew him.“

    tail in tograp caught my eye.

    ‘’s this?“ I asked.

    So look. “It’s a bag. For carrying game. Ps mainly. You can open it flat on to lay ten it up around t knoure. he was never a gamekeeper, I’m sure.”

    ‘o bring t or a p o her.

    I t of Aurelius and ance. t—it  of t to t o’s faded a bit, over to look  you can see it, can’t you?” I  been able to see it, but per if it   her’s? Ambrose.

    From Karen’s  a taxi to tor’s office in Banbury. I kneing to er; no o him.

    tionist did not  to disturb Mr. Lomax . “It is Cmas Eve, you know.”

    But I insisted. “tell ’s Margaret Lea, regarding Angelfield house and Miss March.”

    it said It o t it o tell me, ratantly, to go straight in.

    t very young at all.  turned up at ing money for Joood t to ors. For years o knoity of  Miss Marced t from s and tures on ter all t he knew.

    ‘Glad to meet you, Miss Lea.  can I do to help?“

    ‘I’ve come from Angelfield. From te. they’ve found a body.“

    ‘Oh. Oh, goodness!“

    ‘ill t to speak to Miss inter, do you suppose?“

    At my mention of tly to t  be overheard.

    ‘t to speak to ty as a matter of routine.“

    ‘I t so.“ I  only is s?“

    he nodded.

    ‘—but also, er is dying.“

    interrupt.

    ‘It ter, given y and tate of er’s  receive t too abruptly. S  from a stranger. And s be alone wion reaches her.“

    ‘ do you suggest?“

    ‘I can go back to Yorksoday. If I can get to tation in t o come to contact  they?“

    ‘Yes. But I can delay time for you to get to tation, if you like.“

    At t moment telep up.

    ‘Bones? I see… Sy, yes… An elderly person and in poor er, gravely ill… Some likeli bereavement… It migter… Given tances… I o knoruste… Indeed… By all means.“

    e on a pad and pus across to me. A name and a telephone number.

    ‘o telep to let and o, alk to , it can . t seems, are not recent. Noime is your train? e should be going.“

    Seeing t I , t-so-very-young Mr. Lomax drove in silence. Nevert excitement seemed to be eating a ually, turning in to tation ale…”  suppose… ?”

    ‘I wisold him. ”I’m sorry.“

    ed face.

    As tation loomed into sigion of my own. “Do you o know Aurelius Love?”

    ‘terer! Yes, I know he man’s a culinary genius!“

    ‘how long have you known him?“

    tually, I  sch him”—

    and in tence a curious quiver entered  realized tions of my inquiry. My next question did not surprise him.

    ‘ Miss Marcer? as it her’s business?“

    ill at sco to see my fat e to sort out and,  going into confidential details, it became clear during tion t Miss Marcer  eavesdropping, you understand. t is to say, not deliberately. I able  draped and made it into a sort of tent, you see—and I didn’t  to embarrass my fat stayed quiet.”

    Miss inter old me? ts in a here are children.

    e o a stop in front of tation, and turned ricken eyes toold Aurelius. told me  of told  Miss Adeline Angelfield and Miss Vida inter he same person. I’m sorry.”

    ‘Don’t  it. It doesn’t matter now, anyway. I only wondered.“

    ‘Does sold Aurelius who she was?“

    I t about tter Miss inter  me rig t Aurelius in , seeking tory of  was decades ago. If s care.”

    the shadow cleared from his brow.

    ‘t.“

    And I ran for train.

 HESTER’S DIARY II

    From tation I made a po t ment wold  be coming her will be sorry,” he said.

    ‘ill she?“

    ‘Of course she will.“

    ‘I o go back. I t er.“

    ‘here?“

    ‘t Angelfield.“

    ‘Bones?“

    ‘One of ting today.“

    ‘Gracious.“

    ‘to get in toucer to ask  it. And er is dying. I can’t leave here. She needs me.“

    ‘I see.“ his voice was serious.

    ‘Don’t tell Mot Miss inter and er ire twins.“

    . t said, “You ake care,  you, Margaret?”

    ***A quarter of an er I tled into my seat next to taking er’s diary out of my pocket.

    I so understand a great deal more about optics. Sitting  sig in tated, for s supposed to be in t all, but outside, getting  ake, of course, for I o look out of to see t sside, and er, too, playing nicely for once.  I  a misleading glimpse of, to be precise, must  come in ted in tion (On reflection! An unintended drollery!), it is t caused my misapprerangeness in tical o seeing t t expect to be, and at times o be else of interpreting every movement out of t reflected in a mirror presents itself in a very convincing manner to te dress. to guard against errors suco teaco vie preconception, to abandon all ual modes of t. to be said in favor of suctitude in principle. to t its root ty to see afres  to be understood for centuries.  live by sucime it ake if every aspect of experience o be scrutinized afrese of every day. No; in order to free ourselves from t is essential t e mucerpretation of to t lo deals  sometimes leads us astray and causes us to misinterpret a flas as a girl in a hings can be.

    Mrs. Dunnes mind does imes. I fear sook in very little of our conversation about meal plans, and omorrow.

    I tle plan regarding my activities or.

    I old  great lengt Adeline demonstrates a type of mental disturbance t I ered nor read about before. I mentioned t ted developmental problems, and I saies and talent. One book I spoke of,  knoo give s and evidence in t on to point out t inconsistencies t I iced in it, and to suggest  ions.

    tor smiled at me at tly, “Pere your oly tunity ime.

    I pointed out to  t case study for suc and  I could devote a feing up my observations. I sketc a number of trials and experiments t could be undertaken to test my ouc tablis. After ted t t for all my experience, my formal qualifications are not grand enougo tempt a publis, as a  entirely confident of being able bring off sucious project. A man, if only telligent and resourceful, sensitive and scientific, o my experience and my case study, o make a better job of it.

    And in suc o ogether!

    I fear Mrs. Dunne is not  stay in tries to avoid responsibility for ions by maintaining t ted.

    Quite by calk of gs comes on tely disappeared, only to be replaced by a novella by  Mrs. Dunne of titution. So read  given to practical jokes. Obviously it  makes it note a striking coincidence  a cleverer trick tory about a governess and t Mr. James exposes tent of tle about c all about governesses.

    It is done. t has begun.

    tion  kno is to come of it, I s myself cruel for inflicting it upon t to break .  for Adeline? For so be t altered by t life. I somorroing.

    time for anyt researc I o do one additional useful to conversation today eacside t office. I told  I o Jo truant and t so me if t again  reason. So teac time  it is not time, and terres, I told   foolis not being able to tell inctive  is no  all in identifying  o Jo doubt ion t time.

    I am not ing my diary mucely. I find t after ting, late at nigs I prepare every day about Emmeline’s progress, I am frequently too tired to keep up ivities. And I do  to keep a record of tor, on very important researco come, o look back and remember. Pers or o furtific and intellectual isfying tance, Dr. Maudsley and I  stimulating conversation on t of Emmeline’s use of pronouns. Ser inclination to speak to me, and y to communicate improves every day. Yet t of  is resistant to development is tence of t person plural. “e  to t  to ttle parrot s “I” after me, but in t sentence, “e saten in thing.

    tor and I are mucrigued by ty. Is it simply an ingrained  of speeco Englis t ime rigself? Or does t to te identity from t of er? I told tor about imaginary friends t so many disturbed c, and togetions of t if t t tion causes a mental trauma suc tion of an imaginary tasy companion? e arrived at no satisfactory conclusion but parted isfaction of ed anoture study: linguistics.

    needs to be done, I find I am sleeping too little, and despite my reserves of energy, inguisoms of sleep deprivation. I irritate myself by putting tting  nigells me t t I must urned tion at all of ts on tant tiredness are tor on our project.

    is not ed to e about. I meant to e about our  our findings,  ttern of our minds, tand eacant understanding permits us almost to do  ing tterns of our separate subjects, for instance,  to dratention to somet need to speak, for I can feel o me, and I raise my e ready for o point out  is.

    Skeptics mig me of magnifying a co a ual occurrence by imagination, but I o see t oget project— telligent people, I mean to say—a bond of communication develops bet can enly engaged on a task, tely sensitive to, eaciniest movements, and can interpret t seeing tesimal movements. And it is no distraction from trary, it en, for our speed of understanding is quickened. Let me add one simple example, small in itself but standing in for countless otent upon some notes, trying to see a pattern of betings on Adeline. Reaco make an annotation in t tors  into it. I looked up to t e unconscious of ion, alicipating ts. And ails relating to t, or else observations about ts of life and science, and even ted  undertaking.

    But I am sleepy, and te at lengt is really time to go to bed.

    I  ten for nearly a  offer my usual excuses. My diary disappeared.

    I spoke to Emmeline about it—kindly, severely, e and ts of punis (and yes, my met frankly, losing a diary touc personally)—but sinues to deny everytent and s knoances ed myself and find it o explain it  read and erest in ots and inner lives, ot ly.  it? Presumably it is t tempted  try to reduce it; it is usually  I am disappointed in her.

    If I o judge by er alone, I  s of t. But t remains t it cannot have been anyone else.

    Jo ts sed to steal my diary, e, I remember clearly t t  missing. In case I  t tion around to tivities, and Jo Mrs. Dunne c racket, too, ” old me). S Jo t cannot hem.

    And so, ed all ts I am obliged to believe t it was Emmeline.

    And yet I cannot sure  in appearance, so distressed at being accused—and I am forced to ional factor at play  I o take into account? ter in t it gives rise to an uneasiness in me: I am suddenly over t none of my plans is destined to come to fruition. Somet me ever since I came to t s to t me and frustrate me in every project I undertake! I raced every step in my logic, I can find no fla still I find myself beset by doubt…  is it t I am failing to see?

    Reading over t paragrapruck by t unceristic lack of confidence in my tone. It is surely only tiredness t makes me ted mind is prone to o unfruitful avenues; it is not a good nig cure.

    Besides, it is all over no day for six, and ser, it er I came doo put it t see  to t tely. But it urned. So t, is there?

    I am so tired and yet I cannot sleep. I eps in t, but o there.

    I confess it made me uneasy—makes me uneasy still—to t ttle book  of my possession even for t of anot discomforting. I cannot  terpret certain tten, for ly rut I e, I am pering at speed, may sometimes express myself in a  could be misinterpreted by anot  into ten (tor and t event— ing about at all really), I can see t t appear to a stranger in a lig from ended, and I  troy t  to, for t I most  to keep, to read later,  project.

    ific friends be a source of joy? It is no less scientific for t, is it?

    But pero stop ing altogete, even noe tence, t reader s my s my meaning, and makes me uncomfortable in ts.

    It is very aggravating to be presented to oneself in a lig from t is clearly a false light.

    I  e any more.

    Endings

 THE GHOST IN THE TALE

    tfully I lifted my eyes from ter’s diary. A number of truck my attention as I , and no I o consider thodically.

    O.

    Oh.

    And then, Oh!

    o describe my eureka? It began as a stray ure, an implausible notion. It  impossible per absurd! For a start—

    About to begin marserarguments, I stopped dead in my tracks. For my mind, racing aself in a momentous act of premonition, ted to ts. In a single moment, a moment of vertiginous, kaleidoscopic bedazzlement, tory Miss inter old me unmade and remade itself, in every event identical, in every detail t entirely, profoundly different. Like t reveal a young bride if you  ts of random dots t disguise teapots or cloo see trut.

    t at a time, taking all t angles separately, I revieold and everyt. And yes, again. t, and t, and t, too. My neo tory. It began to breat did so, it began to mend. ts ed. Puzzles explained teries eries no longer.

    At last, after all tale telling and all ter trick mirrors and the double bluffs, I knew.

    I kne day s s.

    I kneity of the garden.

    I kneacked Mrs. Maudsley h a violin.

    I knew whe-dig.

    I knew who Emmeline was looking for underground.

    Details fell into place. Emmeline talking to er  tor’s  appears and reappears in tory, like a silver tapestry. I understood teries of er’s urn of tood trangeness of Joo teaced o tend it.

    I understood t, and  of it. I understood   a girl like Adeline could melt aer in her place.

    ‘I am going to tell you a story about ter er me t first evening in t ed ecory attacibly to hers.

    Once upon a time two baby girls…

    Except t noter.

    Sed me in t direction t very first nigo listen.

    ‘Do you believe in gs, Miss Lea?“ so tell you a g story.“

    And I old ime.”

    But sold me a g story.

    Once upon a time two baby girls…

    Or alternatively: Once upon a time three.

    Once upon a time ted.

    t s, mostly invisible, and yet not quite invisible. t  open, and t s. t in a mirror t made you glance up. t beain ed movement of books from one room to anoterious movement of bookmark from page to page. It ed a diary from one place and  in anot replaced it later. If, as you turned into a corridor, to you t you  missed seeing ttle g  far ay, t ttle g was iness somewhere.

    o see. Yet s seen.

    Sed softly. On tiptoe, in bare feet, s sfall of every inant of to s of so o move among them invisibly.

    Isabelle and C. Living as tside logic, outside reason, t t to be perplexed by tems seemed to t of tural universe. A s fell across a carpet  to be did not cause to stop and reflect; suceries seemed only a natural extension of ts and minds. ttle g  in t stac t, to tovers in try like a mouse, er to bed, disappeared into tion tant anyone appeared.

    S of the house.

    Like all secrets, she had her guardians.

    ttle g as plain as day, despite . A good too. it ion try, enoug loaf, to sustain ttle g. For it ake to t t ers. No. Somac y it o be filled.

    But se, ss, you see, ra pair of  and an old pair of Jorousers, cut off at ting of tful. In tatoes gre  out under lo only did souc and vegetables, but ter,  desire of box and yeo become geometry. At ically straight lines.

    In tctle g did not need to ectors, augo be safe in it. tcranger came to live in t, o banis her.

    More they loved her.

    But  appear at random. to le g   ill t. ory ten in her copper hair and her emerald eyes.

    For  curious t tory. t bore t uncanny resemblance to ted for so long? t fell in a mass doriking emerald eyes. Odd, don’t you to ttle g and so them?

    ‘er told me, ”I .“ So sory in o a picnic, met Roland and eventually ran ao marry ed by er,  on a rampage, venting ers of earls or of so  did not really matter , ion for oblivion.

    Isabelle gave birto  t like t like their uncle.

    : At about time, in some barn or dim cottage bedroom, anot ter of an earl, I trouble. S oo. Copper hair. Emerald eyes.

    Child of rage. Child of rape. Charlie’s child.

    Once upon a time there was a house called Angelfield.

    Once upon a time twins.

    Once upon a time to Angelfield a cousin. More likely a er.

    As I sat in train er’s diary closed in my lap, t ruso feel for Miss inter ailed e co mind. Aurelius. And my sympaturned to anger. ed from  to fend for  knowing ory?

    I t, too, of te tent and t t I no to be er’s.

    It all boiled doo t of t of a baby.

    rain arrived in e and I stepped out onto tform, I o find it ankle-deep in snoaring out train for t side.

    I t I kne all, ion.

    I t,  t Angelfield but t I o tory in my hand.

    At tations I realized t until I knehing.

 BONES

    It  e; it axi driver and to take me so far out of to t of expression, must , for  me in. “e’ll give it a go,” he warned gruffly.

    e drove out of toinued to fall, piling up meticulously, flake by flake, on every incop, every bouger t village, t farme landscape, tinguis times from t land all about, and I so my seat, expecting at any moment t turn back. Only my clear directions reassured   on a road. I got out myself to open t gate, t t, tes of the house.

    ‘I ,“ I said.

    ‘Me? I’ll be all righer shrug.

    As I expected, tes  ing to tended to be looking for my keys in my bag ance away did I grab e and clamber over.

    tc locked. I pulled off my boots, s and  up. I y kitco Emmeline’s quarters, ions, full of questions, I stoked my rage; it y years in t ruins of Angelfield’s library. For all my inorming, my approac; t drank in tread. I did not knock but pus straigains ill closed. At Emmeline’s bedside Miss inter ting quietly. Startled by my entrance, sared at me, an extraordinary shimmer in her eyes.

    “Bones!” I   Angelfield!” I ing on tentero emerge from  ure did not matter. S, and I .

    Except t trying to distract me from my scrutiny.

    ‘Bones?“ said Miss inter. Se and t enougo drown all my fury. ”Oh,“ she said.

    O ricion a single syllable can contain. Fear. despair. Sorroion. Relief, of a dark, unconsoling kind. And grief, deep and ancient.

    And traction in tly in my mind t t ? Some-ting extraneous to my drama of t preceded y intrusion. For a faltering second I  ticed  noticing came togetmospains. transparency Miss inter’s eyes. t t teel core t o tention narroo one tide of Emmeline’s breato my ears.

    ‘No! She’s—“

    I fell to my knees by tared.

    ‘Yes,“ Miss inter said softly. ”S es ago.“

    I gazed at Emmeline’s empty face. Notill angrily red; ; ill green. I touced patc true t sely, irrevocably gone? It seemed impossible t it s deserted us completely? Surely t beo console us? as talisman, no magic t would bring  would reach her?

    It  persuaded me s  brougo my c, falling over eacience to fly into Emmeline’s ear.

    ‘Find my sister, Emmeline. Please find ell ing for ell  oo narro eac of me. ”tell ell uously, urgently from my lips. it any longer! tell o cornel“

    But I oo late. the divide had come down. Invisible. Irrevocable. Implacable.

    My o a pane of glass.

    ‘O toucer’s ly.

    Eventually I dried my eyes. t. Rattling around loose  twin,” I said. “She was here. Look.”

    I pulled at tucked into my skirt, revealed my torso to t.

    My scar. My ranslucence. t divides.

    ‘ted us. And s live  me.“

    I felt tter of Miss inter’s fingers tracing t on my skin, saender sympathy in her face.

    ‘t er t t her“

    ‘Cer looked at me. he compassion of her eyes.

    I t notly still. But under ting and a stirring. I felt t s. For years a ing vessel s cargo of bones. No sed. I urbed it, and it created a turbulence t lifted clouds of sand from tes of grit surbed er.

    All time Miss inter tled and ter returned to its quietness, slotled in ting ory,” I said. “And you told me you didn’t have one.”

    “Now you know, I do have one.”

    ‘I never doubted it.“ Sful smile. ”ed you  I kneory already. I  t . And t your essay, t you must o be my biograper all tale telling I empted to lie to you, you .“

    ‘I .“

    Sranquil, sad, unsurprised. “About time, too. how much do you know? ”

    ‘ you told me. Only a subplot, is  it. You told me tory of Isabelle and  paying attention. t ing me in tion of Jane Eyre. t tsider in t kno Angelfield  her.“

    Sadly s o tions is dead, Margaret.”

    ‘Can’t you remember?“

    ‘I am  remember my birtime o ourselves, tle c is somet ernity ago, at time. e live like latecomers at ter;  catc er events. imes o to t it is not only memories t s of pasmagoria t in t realm. tmares of a lonely cales appropriated by a mind ory. tasies of an imaginative little girl anxious to explain to ever story I may ier of forgetting, I do not pretend to myself t it is truth.“

    “All ch.”

    ‘Quite. t Joold me.“

    ‘And w did ell you?“

    ‘t I appeared like a rawberries.“

    Sold me tory.

    Someone ting at tra birds, because t pitted berries. And not trampled ts and left footprints all over t. No, some liged taking a berry ly,  disturbing a t even iced. ticed a pool of er under ap. tap urn, tig up. c about   an eye out.

    t day ratle scarecro drooped dos face. It ran off er it ermined to get its fruit t o yell and er a name to it. e t size, small and underfed?  tealing fruit from otumped for an answer.

    And someone ting s left t state, es—t aidy; hey had.

    For once  on t home.

    Passing by tap, iced it dripping again. Gave it a firm urn  even t it. tting  into it, anoter turn. t s.

    In t  account for.  get into tting se? And er if tap urned off so tig move it? C fooliso feel temperature. too late for frosts. Cool for time of year, though. And how much colder if you were hungry? And how much darker if you were a child?

    . Nevert of bed. ook ables, topiary garden, planning  an eye out for a floppy  in t bus to be seen.

    ‘’s tter  in silence at cable drinking a cup of coffee.

    ‘Nothing,“ he said.

    back to tood and scanned t bush anxious eyes.

    Nothing.

    At lunce ite and left turned flo by tap. telling  a biscuit next to it. urned tap on. It took quite an effort even for  ter fall, noisily, into a tin ering can, emptied it into t bed and refilled it. ter resounded around table garden. ook care not to look up and around.

    took tle  on to tap, and started bruss. It ant job; it o be done; you could spread disease if you didn’t clean your pots properly beting.

    Beap.

    turn instantly.  he was doing, brush, brush, brush.

    t, over to tap, faster than a fox.

    But te.

    tened, tried to flee but stumbled. Picking itself up, it limped on a feeps, tumbled again. Jo it up, lifted it—t of a cat, no more—turned it to face  fell off.

    Little carving. Eyes gone crusty, , and smelly. ts for c a o t ting ss feet. No s. A trembled. Fever, pain, starvation, fear. If  state, Jo,   it out of its misery.

    in t to fetc up close, got a wepped back.

    ‘No, no, I don’t know w?“

    ‘Dunk er butt, you mean?“

    ‘ater butt indeed! I’ll go and fill tub in tchen.“

    tinking rags aossed t into t  all to ted. t tub of er turned instantly black. In order to empty and refill tub, ted t, and it stood, s better foot. Naked and dripping, streaked s of gray-broer, all ribs and elbows.

    t t eac the child again.

    ‘Jo, but tell me, are you not seeing  seeing?“

    ‘Aye.“

    ‘Little c’s a little maid.“

    ttle after kettle, scrubbed at skin and  out from under terilized t—s didn’t cry out—and tly rubbed or oil into t around t calamine lotion onto tes, petroleum jelly onto t lips. tangles out of long, matted   last to  tcable, wo h and John peeled her an apple.

    Gulping do t get it do enoug a slice of bread and spread it ter. te it ravenously.

    tc, o a brigted wide and she hungry face.

    ‘Are you t I’m thinking?“ said John.

    ‘Aye.“

    ‘ill ell him?“

    ‘No.“

    ‘But she does belong here.“

    ‘Aye.“

    t for a moment or two.

    ‘ about a doctor?“

    ts in t so brig a o till , but better.

    ‘e’ll see onig tor in the morning.“

    ‘If needs be.“

    ‘Aye. If needs be.“

    ‘And so it tled,“ Miss inter said. ”I stayed.“

    ‘ was your name?“

    ‘tried to call me Mary, but it didn’t stick. Jouck to augo read, you knoalogs in t I soon discovered t call me anyt need to, for I .“

    I t about it all for a . It  to feel compassion. And yet…

    ‘ about Aurelius? You kne o gro a moto be abandoned? t Angelfield… I kno must  ell me, he fire?“

    e alking in t see ter’s face, but so s the bed.

    ‘Pull t over ell you about tell you about t first, per kno. So call Dr. Clifton. t need to be done.“

    care ook one look at Miss inter’s pallor and insisted on putting o bed and seeing to ion before anytogeto o goer bottle and folded the bed down.

    ‘I’ll telepon noay er?“ But it es later t so teroom.

    ‘I couldn’t speak to old me in a elep the line down.“

    e  off.

    I t of telephe piece of paper in my bag and was relieved.

    e arranged t I ay er for t s, so t Judito Emmeline’s room and do o be done ter,  medication was due.

    It o be a long night.

    BABYIn Miss inter’s narroole eaced to be ambus any minute. t from t out on: It cauged te arc of  sank her eye in a deep pool of shadow.

    Over t over t it mig, , make it fall less brutally upon Miss inter’s face.

    Quietly I sat, quietly I ched, and when she spoke I barely heard her whisper.

    ‘trut me see…

    ted from o trembling, their journey.

    I  kind to Ambrose. I could

    all and strong and  indifferent. But I . I o Emmeline.

    ‘Am I not good enougraig , like t.

    I pretended not to  ed. “If I’m not good enougell me so to my face!”

    ‘You can’t read,“ I said, ”and you can’t e!“ ook my pencil from tco scratcters onto a piece of paper. ters  it  out to show me.

    I snatc out of  into a ball and tossed it to the floor.

    opped coming into tcea break. I drank my tea in tte, ep or to t,  a ed, face frozen. er, cleaning tc. I felt as tc  of sight.

    ? A feer topped coming for tea. I kne before so notice to realize tioned  Ambrose. It ions, and se failed to see oo unkind.” Sly, full of compassion for ting her reproach for me. I could have shaken her.

    ‘You do realize t you’re going to  you?“ Mild astonis passed across  it tranquil as before. Not seemed, could disturb y. I dismissed Ambrose. I gave ill t  look at o  give  ask any questions. ”You may as ely,“ I told  t  ing I errupted, cleaned tools scrupulously, taug t and tidy. t tchen door.

    ‘ ? Do you kno?“

    I shook my head.

    ‘Come on.“

    ion of the pen, and I followed him.

    ‘Don’t e any time,“ ructed me. ”Clean and quick is ts.“

    our feet and s body firmly. ion t s neck. “See?”

    I nodded.

    ‘Go on then.“

    flurried to ts round back inguiss neighbors.

    ‘Now?“

    ‘ else are you going to eat tonight?“

    t it scuttled aime, clumsily, I o it. It squaried to beat its s panic to escape, and I o keep it still under my arm and get my s neck at time, I felt the boy’s severe eye upon me.

    ‘Clean and quick,“ ed me, I could tell from his voice.

    I o kill to kill t my rangled cry of alarm fle, and for a second I ated. it and a flap, t ruck by t I still  by ting, cla t it lurched away from me.

    Sly, poook t of my grasp and in a single movement .

    to me; I forced myself to take it. arm, ill.

    t me. ing he limp body in my hands.

    it a word urned his back and walked away.

    good o me? My   mine to give; it belonged to another, and always had. I loved Emmeline.

    I believe t Emmeline loved me, too. Only s is a painful to love a tside, a cast-off, a superfluity, a mere observer of twinness.

    Only  for anottle by little I coaxed s of silver til s forgot so talked. together we were happy.

    Until Adeline came back. Furious o tant so an end, and I side again.

    It  fair. t hough Adeline abandoned her, Emmeline loved her.

    ever Adeline did, it altered nototal. And me? My  I never fooled Emmeline.  kneruth.

    Emmeline had her baby in January.

    No one kneo tent to stay inside, yacreat  noticed.  or to t regular o  of time he door.

    Our contact . For meat and vegetables —I never learned to like killing c I learned to do it. As for ot to to collect c a boy on a bicycle s, I met  to t it ion to  least from time to time. Once,  t oday,” I imagined  t tor  if t reac it soon greo use Adeline like ted  time in ite. From being a scraimes—in , from certain angles— tell t. So from time to time on a ednesday morning, I o a tigated mask and go doo meet t as I came doo meet  citiously, , ted ip and o bicycle a by me as myself, ouc.

    difficult. But I roubled during ting about tself. I kne be. Isabelle’s mot survived  put t out of my  a time. t Emmeline s  in danger—tor

    taken  could not be alloo o Emmeline. ed Emmeline and Adeline. t could not be alloo o Emmeline and me. Besides,  te complications? And alt understand it, t t e rag-doll Adeline o realize t t Angelfield ely see trut, for tself, I could lock Adeline in t get a. But once it s. It o keep our secret.

    I y of my position. I kne Emmeline, no life but t I  enuous my claim o ot friends did I or could ed to speak up for me, and to me no able t titude er. Emmeline’s affection for me and mine for  as nothing.

    Emmeline  and placid, let t pass by untroubled. For me time  in an agony of indecision. o keep Emmeline safe? o keep myself safe? Every day I put off to t. During t mont sure tion o me in time.  resolved everyt too, could be arranged. But as time gre and I e bet to go to tor’s o tell rary t: t to do so o reveal myself, and t to reveal myself could only lead to my banis. tomorroold myself, as I replaced my coat on tomorrow.

    But t oo late for tomorrow.

    I o a cry. Emmeline!

    But it  Emmeline. Emmeline  sed and sed; eet s cry out. Se  turned to strengt  continued to resound all around t  Adeline’s, and t cease till morning, w, a boy, was delivered.

    It h of January.

    Emmeline slept; she smiled in her sleep.

    I batounded by toucer.

    the sun rose.

    time for decisions  er, and we were safe.

    My life could go on.

 FIRE

    Miss inter seemed to sense t me cocoa on a tray but also offered to replace me if I ed to sleep. I s, thanks.”

    Miss inter also refused e tablets if shem.

    er closed her eyes again.

    ‘he wolf?“ I asked.

    ‘Quiet in t ain of ory. So ent to bide ime.  going to make a fuss. e’ve agreed to terms.“

    ‘ terms?“

    ‘o let me finisory, and to let him finish me.“

    Sold me tory of ted dohe words.

    I  deal of t to tical aspects of ainly, and I ure. If ime, my intention o alloer. t  be ant member of to   parentage, to do so; noto reveal truty t needed to be resolved. I  taken into account t  expected to love him.

    I did not d   t of  tentative movements of iny y of my desire to protect ed to protect o protect o protect tcoget drag my eyes aiful. My one desire o keep t to keep them safe.

    Adeline er, more jealous t o be expected: Emmeline er, s neitions ouc t. the baby usurped all.

    I s  tent of Adeline’s red. I kneent of  t understood t go to, I could scarcely believe it. Passing Emmeline’s bedroom, I silently puso see if sill sleeping. I found Adeline in ture alarmed me. ep, sarted, turned and rus me out of tched a small cushion.

    I felt compelled to daso t. t e baby breath.

    Safe!

    Until next time.

    I began to spy on Adeline. My old days of ing came in useful again as from beains and yerees I cions; indoors or outdoors, taking no notice of time of day or ted actions. Sates t side my understanding. But gradually one activity came particularly to my attention. Once, times a day, so t it again, carrying a can of petrol ime. Sook to to lose interest. S s distantly, ful.  looking I took tever did s  t t at o be realized. ever t seem to find it strange t t  despite trol cans, sed in fetcing the house.

    I seemed to spend urning to t one day, not ing to leave Emmeline and tected, I put one instead in t of sig occurred to me t perter place. Because, by alurning to t it  altoget put an end to the rigmarole.

    atcired me out, but sired. A little sleep  a long  at any . And I ting sleepy. One day, in t to bed. t in  noter,  soundly.

    I dreains.

    It ime to go and cired of al. atc, c at all.  , t touc ening to t, tranquil it —t ained myself, tting into  I rate me, take over my breat of t took  myself drifting off o sleep.

    Somet I  before I ever  move, kept my breatcween my lashes.

    S over t, lifted t of t to stop  I didn’t. If I , sponed ting , I could find out  a stop to it once and for all. tirred in  o be in anyone’s arms but Emmeline’s, and a baby is not taken in by a twin.

    I folloo t s ajar. t to t  to t rectangle I sa in t. I s. he was awake.

    Kneeling by took coals from ttle, logs from ted t kno of paper, kindling, coals and logs; Adeline’s fires  oug to burn at all.

    tion of c couldn’t catc couldn’t. But I could not reassure myself. o do  somet to spark. trong s fire to er if sed to badly enough.

    In cill wrapped in .

    t t o t s discovered my spying. It er. Surned into tairs and disappeared.

    I ran to trapped  quickly around a moten bolster from t it on t time to flee. I eps on tone flags, a dragging noise t rol can scraping on t as I stepped back into one of the library bays.

    ly, don’t cry noo my body so  miss t.

    Back at t  it appeared not. S  sed?

    tirred, a jerk of tensing of e backbone t is so often to a tled   cry. ease don’t cry. ill again, and I ched.

    My books. On t pass  opening at random, for to see t looked all  t so read—

    Sore out pages by tful. Stered to to loose balls. Fast! S little volumes, suddenly a paper mountain. to t! I ed to cry out, but iful  and crumpled up, and I, in the shadows, speechless.

    S onto top of te blanket in times I curn from to til torn-up books. Jane Eyre, uts, te… Balls of paper toppled from t of t, joining t se.

    One came to a stop at my feet, and silently I dropped doo retrieve it.

    Orageous sensation of crumpled paper; ions, senseless. My  broke.

    Anger s me up; it carried me like a piece of flotsam, unable to see or breat roared like an ocean in my  , leaped like a mad truck  I reasure in my arms, and so I stood by and crembling, ed treasure t was mine.

    At last sisfied  , tain in tself. It’s all upside do’ll never lig t ttom. But even if s it properly, it ain matcill s acended victim, est madness of all: Supposing I  been to stop  rescued t and s burning er’s core er to her?

    It he fire of a madwoman.

    In my arms tirred and opened o meo do? Bely retreated, to tchen.

    I must get to a place of safety, ter. My mind er plan. Emmeline o do. It  Adeline killed Joake ell Adeline t unless sell t! e art a ne Adeline,  Angelfield, but together.

    And it all seems so simple I  of it before.

    iture glo, I put t is on tcable. e , en route to our new life.

    Noo  es it ake me to come back to tco follow…

    Not times goes t is a place she never goes.

    I run doe and into t roapestry cuso a bed and lay them in his canvas papoose.

    Noo the house.

    I am almost ture sters. Ser, living ligy ing in t. And two figures.

    Emmeline!

    I run. tcrils even in trance one floor and  at top. Flames cains; booksself is an inferno. In ter of t, in all t of top dead. Amazed. For Emmeline, turning bloe for bite. Saliated against er before, but now s. For her child.

    Around t of liger anotrol cans explode and fire rains dohe room.

    I open my mouto call to Emmeline t t t breat , and I choke.

    I ep around it, dodge t falls on me from above, brus out t groers I cannot see t reacoucartles t instantly. t y—sops. I tug at her.

    ‘ they are clear enough.

    sand?

    I try again. “the baby. I have saved him.”

    Surely ss my tug, and her hand slips from mine. here is she? I can see only blackness.

    I stumble foro th her form, grasp her and pull.

    Still s stay urns once more into the room. hy?

    So er. She is bound.

    Blind and o the bond.

    Eyes closed against t, I plunge into t let  s, I drag o t of it.

    t is  doesn’t burn easily. I pus s bech engages.

    Beside me, seps for to open it again. It is sometronger t pulls o t room.

    t sits in ter, is . ft burns my palm as I turn it. Nots me t nig t cs out a land to clutc again. tal burns , I pull her hand away.

    A great cry fills my   tself? I don’t even knoside tural start it gatrengt rises, reacensity, and  be at ts breat continues, impossibly lo fills t and contains it.

    And the fire.

    Outdoors. Rain. to t grass to damp our smoldering clot on our scorc t against t falls on my face, cools my eyes, and I can see again. Never , deep indigo -moving slate-black clouds, ten a plume, a spray of brigain of fire. A bolt of lighen again, and again.

    t tell Emmeline about t I  .

    I turn to o speak. her face—

    iful face is black and red, all smoke and blood and fire.

    her eyes, her green gaze, ravaged, unseeing, unknowing.

    I look at  find my beloved in it.

    ‘Emmeline?“ I whisper. ”Emmeline?“

    S reply.

    I feel my  die.   possible t… ?

    I cannot bear to know.

    I cannot bear not to know.

    ‘Adeline?“ My voice is a broken thing.

    But s or mig be, ter, t know who she is—

    does not reply.

    People are coming. Running up tly in t.

    I rise to a crouctle a. In t tcco my side, and set off.

    It is quiet in tly on t carry me to a small  often during my ing years. A ting or baking, I  s kindly grandmoth her face.

    I take to  tting. tful and quiet. Sting. Just sitting titc, able beside tle  beree.

    Sakes  ion. As if sled trayed my presence? It crosses my mind to step fore, and tion. I smell t t surns ao t t rises over t  so ransferred from my clot teps firmly back into he door.

    I am alone.

    No name.

    No home.

    No family.

    I am nothing.

    I o go.

    I o me.

    I stare at my burned palm but cannot feel the pain.

    kind of a thing am I? Am I even alive?

    I could go anyo Angelfield. It is the only place I know.

    Emerging from trees, I approacs, standing back, dazed and ctle o the grass.

    No one sees me.

    On tivity I stand, invisible. Per all. Per realized it yet. Per I .

    tion.

    ‘Look,“ sing. ”Surn. Stare. One of to alert turn from too. ”thank God!“ someone says.

    I open my mouto say… I don’t kno I say not stand th, no voice, and no words.

    ‘Don’t try to speak.“ Dr. Maudsley is by my side now.

    I stare at tor.

    I look at the house.

    t t. I remember t it behe baby.

    I begin to weep.

    ‘Sor to one of tay  ter in the ambulance.“

    A o me, clucking akes off  and  around me, tenderly, as t , oh, my poor dear.”

    t t me doe. And to tal.

    Sares into space. Eyes open, empty. After t moment I don’t look. t surns to me.

    ‘ about t hand, eh?“

    I am clutc , unconscious of t my body giving t away.

    akes my  o my palm. the key.

    ‘t’ll ells me. ”Don’t worry. Now, are you Adeline or are you Emmeline?“

    ures to this Emmeline?”

    I can’t ans feel myself, can’t move.

    ‘Not to worry,“ ime.“

    and ters for , “Still,  to call you somety-fifty, isn’t it? It’ll all come out in the wash.”

    tal. Opening tle. Voices speaking fast. tretced onto a trolley and  er. You’re safe now, Adeline.”

    Miss inter slept.

    I saender slackness of uft of unruly  did not lay straigemple, and in ook t eac brus , but all t over o fold to place.

    S stir. as shis unconsciousness already?

    I can’t say cer t. t ts of its er ime lapped over me as I sat  sleeping, but hing of her child.

    I  to say about t t possible t I ed in my tiredness? Did I fall asleep and dream? Or did Miss inter really speak one last time?

    I o your sister.

    I jerked my eyes open, but o be sleeping as deeply as before.

    I did not see t tle before dao be he room was my own.

    Beginnings

 SNOW

    Miss inter died and t falling. ood ime at tcion of t sky. teration in teness told us it o bed.

    I a ternoon.

    t eleped  separated us from t of tively as a prison key. Miss inter o as Emmeline, and rapped.

    t less. It  put ;  like t from one o anot ly at Judits restoration ter t, if iced it at all, left ally undisturbed.

    to a sideension of time, and urbable, made vegetable soup, cleaned tc and,  and tivity, played endless games of solitaire, but o distract terness.

    As for me, I spent ting up my final notes, but  settle to reading. Even S reac an rying to name   in it. I realized t I missed Miss inter. So, o tco play cards ea er let Judith file and polish my own nails.

    In t sat out to linger on past its time.

    On to be overcome by a vast sorrow.

    I aire at table. e o t onto t of t  drift so  into teness and  at bay for years by means of books and bookcases approacered by a tall o a sorro self, and as untainted. I cried for Miss inter, for , for Adeline and Emmeline. For my sister, my motly, and most terribly, I cried for myself. My grief  of t, nein, making sudden, sting crying on a bencory lighe snow.

    o myself Dr. Clifton  an arm around me. “I know,” he said. “I know.”

    kno really. And yet t s, o us all. “I know,” herefore, in a way, he did.

    o h.

    ‘Oh. ”Shall I bring cocoa?“

    ‘itouc, I think,“ he said.

    Maurice pulled out a co stoke the fire.

    I sipped tor  it or.

    Juditucked a sarted peeling potatoes for dinner. Sor made t—elepored—and in making took it upon to start ter deatopped us all in its tracks.

    Little by little ts melded togetion.

    I listened to ter a time, joined in.

 HAPPY BIRTHDAY

    I  home.

    to the bookshop.

    ‘Miss inter is dead,“ I told my father.

    ‘And you? how are you?“ he asked.

    ‘Alive.“

    he smiled.

    ‘tell me about Mum,“ I said to he way she is?“

    old me. “Saken aer…”

    ‘My sister had died.“

    ‘Yes. t  from o yours… I t I o lose all to every God I o save you. And my prayers . You survived. Your mother never really came back.“

    to know.

    ‘ you tell me? About being a twin?“

    turned to me ated. ory of your birt it too o bear. At least t’s  for you, Margaret, if I could. I would o spare you.”

    e sat in silence. I t of all tions I mig no t  need to.

    I reac t as he reached for mine.

    I attended three funerals in as many days.

    Miss inter’s mourners ion grieved for its favorite storyteller, and turned out to pay ts. I came away as soon as I could, having said my good-byes already.

    t affair. tor and me to mourn to t tered.

    till. In a crematorium in Banbury I tendance ity unknoo God’s  t it er, “on behe Angelfield family.”

    t least t signs of ts, green and freshe snow.

    As I stood up I   te. Snoled on his shoulders and he was carrying flowers.

    ‘Aurelius!“ how could he have grown so sad? So pale? ”You’ve changed,“ I said.

    ‘I  on a o t blue as traigransparency to ed . ”All my life I ed to find my family. I ed to kno be some coration. Noaken.“

    e  doo  and unly o me and dug eeto ther.

    ‘Is t . ”Is t t of my story?“

    I .

    ‘Isn’t it lig as air. And yet…“ o ;  a gesture to s  finding it,  do and took anote of cake.

    morsel   die ake me ao Mrs. Love’s o a  doesn’t make sense.”

    I folloral pato topped at a grave I  before and laid down one was a simple one.

 JOAN MARY LOVE NEVER FORGOTTEN

    Poor Aurelius. o notice as I slipped my arm t turned to face me fully. “Per’s better not to ory at all, rat keeps c my ory and never quite catc. Running after my story when I had Mrs. Love all along. She loved me, you know.”

    ‘I never doubted it.“ So ter tter not to knoed.

    one to te sky. “Do you think so?”

    ‘No.“

    ‘t it?“

    I slid my arm from ucked my cold . “It’s less story is better t’s too heavy.”

    ‘So. My story is a heavy one.“

    I said notold  ory but my own.

    ‘I er,“ I began. ”A twin.“

    urned to face me.  tened gravely to tory I poured out to him.

    ‘e  me. S to beat for  I couldn’t live rengted us, and she died.“

    My ot over my scar, and I pressed hard.

    ‘My motold me. S it ter for me not to know.“

    ‘A weigory.“

    ‘Yes.“

    ‘But you do know.“

    I pressed  by accident.”

    ‘I am sorry,“ he said.

    I felt my aken by o one great fist. to s I felt tness of o my ear. It is ting of , I t. A . By my side. So t it’s like. I listened.

    t.

    ‘And is it better to know?“ he asked me.

    ‘I can’t tell you. But once you kno’s impossible to go back.“

    ‘And you knoory.“

    ‘Yes.“

    ‘My true story.“

    ‘Yes.“

    ated. Just took a breato grotle bigger.

    ‘You ter tell me, then,“ he said.

    I told. And anding at ting teness of the snow.

    it in ated. “I  the rules.”

    I t it oo. “But w else can we do?”

    ‘t hey?“

    ‘Not.“

    ‘Come on, then.“

    e used to gouge a ipped t, and o cover t, and to urbance.

    ‘It  ing of trouser legs.

    ‘Aurelius, to your story.“

    I led o anot of t your mot you oo.” I indicated Ambrose’s gravestone.

    t   explains ther.“

    I paused. It  for Aurelius to take in. er a long moment  on. “he was a good man. You are very like him.”

    Aurelius stared. Dazed. More knowledge. More loss. “he is dead. I see.”

    ‘t’s not all,“ I said softly. urned o mine, and I read in t to be no end to tory of .

    I took  him.

    ‘After you were born, Ambrose married. her child.“

    It took a moment for o realize  meant, and ement brougo life. “You mean… I have… And she… he… she—”

    ‘Yes! A sister!“

    the smile grew broad on his face.

    I  on. “And surn. A boy and a girl!”

    ‘A niece! And a nephew!“

    I took o mine to stop ting you.”

    I could e and strode doo te gate te was because of me.

    ‘Aurelius! I almost forgot to give you this.“

    ook te envelope and opened it, distracted by joy.  t? Not really?”

    ‘Yes. Really.“

    ‘today?“

    ‘today!“ Somet t moment. I did someted to do, eited at top of my voice, ”hDAY!“

    I must  mad. In any case, I felt embarrassed. Not t Aurelius cared. anding motionless, arms stretc on eiturned skyhe snow.

    In Karen’s garden ts of cprints and smaller ones folloo be seen, but as  nearer we ree.

    ‘Let’s play Snow e.“

    ‘t’s a girls’ story.“

    ‘ story do you  to play?“

    ‘A story about rockets.“

    ‘I don’t  to be a rocket. Let’s be boats.“

    ‘e s yesterday.“

    ce, t of tree, and ell broter.

    ‘It’s the cake man!“

    Karen stepped out of tell you his is your uncle.”

    Aurelius looked from Karen to to Karen, o take in everyted to.  for  Karen reac a tentative ook it in his.

    ‘It’s all a bit…“ he began.

    ‘Isn’t it?“ s  used to it,  we?“

    he nodded.

    taring y at t scene.

    ‘ are you playing?“ Karen asked, to distract them.

    ‘e don’t knohe girl said.

    ‘e can’t decide,“ said her.

    ‘Do you knoories?“ Emma asked Aurelius.

    ‘Only one,“ old her.

    ‘Only one?“ Sounded. ” got any frogs in it?“

    ‘No.“

    ‘Dinosaurs?“

    ‘No.“

    ‘Secret passages?“

    ‘No.“

    t eac  mucory, clearly.

    ‘e knoories,“ tom said.

    ‘Loads,“ sles, fairy godmothers—“

    ‘Caterpillars, rabbits, eleps—“

    ‘All sorts of animals.“

    ‘All sorts.“

    to silence, absorbed in semplation of countless different worlds.

    Aurelius chey were a miracle.

    turned to tories,” the boy said.

    ‘Sell you a story?“ the girl asked.

    I t perories for one day, but he nodded his head.

    S and placed it in t  so be sure stention of urned to the book in her hand, and she began.

    ‘Once upon a time…“

    Karen and tom and Aurelius: ts of eyes all resting on Emma and orytelling. t together.

    Unnoticed, I stepped back from te and slipped areet.

    I  publiser. tory, but it is not mine to tell. Adeline and Emmeline, t, tories t belong to Aurelius no rut tional o turn tart afresh.

    But time passes. One day Aurelius oo, om and Emma, are already more distant from ts I old o forge tories; stories t are strong and solid and true. t a name,  t to cause fear or pain. t an old story, unable to do any o anyone. And om and Emma t. to read and, if to publish.

    I  til t of t g-c me. Ss, linger in my dreams, my memory  is not muc it is not oblivion. It om and Emma release t and so exist more fully after deat.

    And so tory of t girl is not to be publis all. t does not mean,  I o give tely to satisfy its curiosity about Vida inter. For t t meeting  to leave  one more took out an envelope.

    I  envelope  of Karen’s garden and turned my steps back toes. tel tened, and o remember tograp t came to me  alo face t ed. to be mucter. It raigoward you.

    I diverged from to cross toimes fell in soft s my passing. I came at last to tage point on ts graveyard, t against tes, ce against ts s ely. ts  to a blank page. e ipping point. It o call it a demolition site. tomorrooday perurn and it ruction site. t demolis ime for to start building ture.

    I took ting. For t time. t place.

    tters on trokes eito noto tter gave ted individually, at great cost, t undertaken as a neing enterprise. It  o Miss Margaret Lea.

    I slit open t tents. And I sat on a felled tree to read it, because I never read standing up.

    Dear Margaret,old you about.

    I ried to finis, and find t I cannot. And so tory t t must do as it is. It is a flimsy t w you will.

    As for titles, t springs to my mind is “Cinderella’s C I knoe enoug readers to understand t , it itle in t  be mine.

    ture. No name.

    But tory.

    It ory of Cinderella, like I’d never read it before. Laconic, er’s sentences hal.

    Picture tory begins. A boy and a girl; one ric often it’s t no gold and t’s  is in tory I’m telling. t o be a ball. A o stumble into eacime t t of time tory is about me of times. Our girl’s pumpkin is just a pumpkin, and ser midnigticoats, violated. tman at tomorroupid. S, though.

    In t of tory, Cinderella gives birto a girl, raises y and filter a feor. tory ends abruptly.

    o before, cold and  leads into t. It remains ajar. Is  still? A, to tle  ser.  even be someto eat.

    ttle house?

    Door? Or house?

    tates.

    Sates…

    And tory ends there.

    Miss inter’s earliest memory? Or just a story? tory invented by an imaginative co fill t to have been?

    teentale. tory.

    I read tory and grieved.

    Gradually my ts turned aer and to myself. S not be perfect, but at least I  too late to make somet t ory.

    I put tood up and brus from my trousers before o the road.

    I o e tory of Miss inter’s life, and I . to fulfill terms of tract. One copy of t is to be deposited ore it in a bank vault and t of money to be paid to me. Apparently  even o c t blank.

    ‘Srusted you,“ old me.

    Clearly srust me. entions in tract t I never read or signed are quite unmistakable. Sed to tell me tory before sed me to make a record of it.  I did  after t or about my intentions regarding tom and Emma, and  to formalize my  ougo be t.

    But I don’t feel I am quite done. I don’t kno no matter ter ant in time from t, I feel a responsibility toold to kno Adeline and Emmeline and t-c for some t  be quite enoug it is like to finiser, c t t became of Judit up to live in the house.

    And so, in case you are  me tell you. Juditayed on. t sold; provision er’s o be converted into a kind of literary museum. Of course it is t ed gem,” an early icultural revie Miss inter realized t it ion for storytelling more t o be tours of teas bring tourists to te museum can come aftero “Vida inter’s Secret Garden.” Juditinue as  job, before to clear Emmeline’s rooms. t be visited, for to see.

    And er. No certainly surprised me. I ter from Emmanuel Drake. to tell you trutten all about inued  all odds, late in t alian connection t track,” ter explained, “o America!” For ter ant to an academic neurologist, and . It  after a long and ogetten to me, and I  to o keep. I doubt o make out mucen; if ion, I ell  ime of  marriage, but if  ask, I er to me,  of s’ joint publications. te dozens of icles (none on to call it a day) and publisly: Dr. E. and Mrs. h. J. Maudsley.

    er had a middle name: Josephine.

    else  to kno? ell, So live  ts on tomers come across urns tares y. From time to time  in t not for long. reet, te. I cut via to t o use it.

    ‘ do you expect?“ my fato a Yorks. It is the moors he is looking for.“

    I t. Full of expectation, So t, turns on me a long, disappointed stare.

    I don’t like to t he is homesick.

    Dr. Clifton came to my fato be visiting to it o call in, t , to see if ed in. As it ted amiably about it at lengtil er closing time. to make up for keeping us so late ed us out for a meal. It , and since ill in to, my fated  evening for a meal cold me . Very nice.” t afternoon  for a  time it  too busy ing letters to be able to accompany us. I told ory of t of Angelfield. ened closely, and o walk, slowly and in silence.

    ‘I remember seeing t treasure box,“ ually. ” come to escape the fire?“

    I stopped in my tracks,  to ask.”

    ‘You’ll never know now, will you?“

    ook my arm and we walked on.

    Anyurning to my subject, ed my fat’s sadness o give S. But t is, o a state of painful perplexity. For I am not sure I can bear to be parted from s Miss inter’s disappearance, for ; but being  all possible to keep him near me.

    In a letter I betrayed somets to Dr. Clifton;  per botay, Ses us for a mont  possible t  of t suits us all. I cannot  t .

    And t is all.

 POSTSCRIPTUM

    Or nearly all. One t isn’t, quite.

    I or.

    It o notice. I epping in and out of it, toying  on my socks and cardigans, ent, and stared tohe door behind me.

    S as a golden angel, nor as ter of deatallis notice if sreet.

    t I  to ask  I o o her side.

    ‘Moira,“ I managed to  real.“

    But s mine,  . Scar to scar oucions faded as I felt  beat   of , great and calm; and I kne I remembered t . try. t oday, no I , miraculous.

    Sogether.

    I understood t so say good-bye. t next time  it o  t meeting  be for a very long time. t and so could I.

    I felt toucears, twined. ness.

    Such joy.

    No matter t s stay. She had come. She had come.

    I’m not sure . I simply realized t s on te calm, quite  tion of my blood rerouting itself, of my  recalibrating its beat for me alone. touc it alive; no cooled until it felt no different from t of my body.

    S see he grave. My life was my own.

    In tcase, S out my o stroke , t again.

 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ito Jo Anson, Gaia Banks, Martyn Bedford, Emily Bestler, Paula Catley, Ross and Colin Catley, Jim Crace, Penny Dolan, Marianne Doterfield, Cina S and Bill tall, John ilkes and Jane ood.

    ito Oaley, er tall, to ale os title and a good deal more besides.