Dougal said, "I have come to tell you that I shall be leaving tomorrow."
"I hope you will be coming back soon," replied my father.
"I hope to. This is a matter of trouble in my family. My cousin has had a fall from his horse and is rather badly injured. I must go to see him."
"Is he far from here?" I asked.
"About sixty miles. It's a place called Tenleigh."
"I have heard of it," said my father. "Some Roman remains were discovered nearby ... on the Earl of Tenleigh's land, I believe."
"Yes, that is so."
"Very interesting. Fine mosaic pavings and baths. What a wonderful race the Romans were. They brought benefits to the lands they occupied, which is, of course, what a conqueror should do. It was a great tragedy that they should have become decadent and their empire fade away."
"It is the fate of many civilizations," Dougal commented. "It is almost like a pattern."
"One day there might be one to break free of the pattern," I suggested.
"That may well be," agreed Dougal.
"We shall miss your visits," my father told him.
Dougal smiled from my father to me. "I shall miss them, too," he said.
I was a little sad that he was going away. I went to the door with him to say goodbye. He took my hands and held them firmly.
"I am sorry to have to go just now," he said. "I was so enjoying our meetings. I was planning some more excursions like those to the castle. There are so many interesting places all over England. It has been such a pleasure."
"Well, perhaps when you have seen your cousin ..."
"I shall be back. You may be assured of that. I shall insist on being invited."
"I daresay my father would be pleased if you stayed with us. We can't offer you the grandeur of Framling, of course."
"I should so much enjoy that, but wouldn't it be putting you out?"
"Not in the least. There is plenty of room at the rectory and Mrs. Janson would enjoy cooking special meals for you."
"It would not be the food I came for. Food for the mind is another matter."
"Well, think about it." He looked at me earnestly and went on, "Drusilla ..." He stopped and I looked enquiringly at him. Then he went on, "Yes, I should so much like to stay here. I'll just get over this matter and then ... we'll talk."
"I should like that," I said.
He leaned towards me and kissed me lightly on the cheek.
Then he had gone.
I felt a sudden contentment. The relationship between us had deepened and that gave me a feeling of great serenity.
The future seemed suddenly promising.
I thought a good deal about Dougal during the days that followed. I believed that in time he would ask me to marry him. Dougal was a thoughtful person. He was seriousminded; he would not make hasty decisions. That he was attracted to me, I knew; yet our friendship had grown steadily and I felt that was the best way it should grow. Ever since I had overheard that comment in the Framling gardens I had recognized the fact that I was plain and that no man was going to fall violently in love with me on account of my beauty, for I had none. But relationships were formed in other ways, and I believed that one founded on mutual understanding would be firmer than a blinding passion for a beauty.
Dougal had been away for a week. Fabian was in London, a fact for which I was glad. I could well do without his disturbing presence. I was becoming obsessed by the thought of Janine and my dreams about The Firs kept recurring. I had an idea that if I went to the New Forest and saw the place for myself, I might discover something from the local people. Janine had been so close to us during those anxious months and had done so much to help us, I just could not forget her.
I was in constant communication with Polly, who kept me informed of Fleur's progress, and I wrote to her and told her of my concern about Janine and how I could not forget the fire at The Firs and the terrible tragedy that had overtaken all those people among whom for a short time I had lived.
Polly had an idea. What if I came to London? She and I could take a trip to the place. Eff would be in sole charge of Fleur, which would please her. And so it was arranged.
I left the rectory and this time travelled alone to London.
Polly was at the station to meet me and there was the usual affectionate greeting.
Then there was the joy of seeing Fleur and Eff again. Fleur had grown amazingly; she now toddled and could even say something that sounded like Eff ... Poll ... yes ... no— quite emphatically this last. She was enchanting and seemed very satisfied with life.
Eff and Polly vied for her affection and she gave it with regal unconcern; and it was quite clear to me that no mother could give a child more love than did those two dear people.
Polly had made plans for our visit. She suggested we go the next day and spend the night at one of the inns nearby. She had discovered through Third Floor Back in one of the houses— who most fortuitously knew the district—that The Feathers was the best one and she had taken the precaution of booking two rooms for the night.
This was progress and Polly and I in due course set out on our voyage of discovery.
We arrived in the late afternoon and decided that on the following morning we would visit the site.
In the meantime we were able to have a little conversation. First of all we talked to the chambermaid. She was a middle-aged woman who had worked at The Feathers when she was a girl, and now that her children were off her hands she came in the afternoons. She lived only a few yards from the hotel.
"So," I said, "you know the district well."
"Like the palm of my hand, Madam."
"You must remember the fire."
"At The Firs?"
"Yes."
"Oh, that wasn't so long ago. My goodness, what a blaze that was! It happened in the night."
"We read about it in the paper," said Polly. "It was quite a piece of news, that."
"It was a strange place. Used to give me the horrors every time I passed by."
"Why?" I asked.
"I dunno. That Mrs. Fletcher ... As a matter of fact, before I came back here ... just when my youngest was old enough not to need me at her heels all the time ... I worked there for a bit."
"Oh," I said faintly, fearing suddenly that she might have seen Lavinia and me.
"Best part of five years ago, that was."
I was relieved.
"Why did it give you the creeps?" asked Polly.
"I can't rightly say. There was something about it. It was all them old people. You get the feeling that they are all there waiting for death to come along and take them. It gives you the shivers in a way. People used to say they were put there because their families did not want them. And a funny lot they was ... and there'd always be one or two who had come there to have a baby ... on the quiet, if you know what I mean?"
I certainly knew what she meant.
"And the fire?" I prompted.
"Lit up the whole place. I was in bed and I said to my old man, 'Jacob, something's going on.' He said, 'Go to sleep,' and then he realized there was a funny smell and a sort of light in the room. 'Snakes alive,' he said, and he was out of that bed in a flash. He was out there helping them. The whole village seemed to be out there. Oh, it was a night, I can tell you."
"There were a lot of casualties, were there not?" I asked.
"Oh yes. Well, you see, this batty old man had started fires in one of the downstairs cupboards and the whole of the ground floor was well on the way to being destroyed before it spread about. They were all burned to death ... Mrs. Fletcher herself among them."
"All?" I asked. "Everyone?"
"Everyone in the place. It was too late to rescue them. Nobody knew the place was on fire until it was well on the way."
"What a terrible tragedy."