We went along the gallery. I felt I knew it well. There were all my ancestors. I would study them in detail at my leisure.
Up the staircase we went. At the top of it the woman paused. She turned and looked at me and my heart felt as though it would burst out of my body.
She said: "Did you see your father?"
I nodded.
"And Miss ... Anabel? ..." There was a slight tremor in her voice as she said that and then I knew, for from the first she had seemed vaguely familiar. She was the one who had brought the food when we went on the picnic and who had driven the dogcart for us, the one who, Anabel had told me, always said what she meant, who couldn't tell a lie and rarely said anything good about anything. I struggled a few moments to bring out her name from the recesses of my memory. Then I thought, Janet! It must be Janet, but I was not going to fall into the trap of using her name until I was sure.
"Yes," I said, "I saw them both."
"Were they ..."
I said fervently: "They were happy together. My father was doing wonderful work on the island."
"We've only just got the news about the explosion or whatever it was."
"It was a volcanic eruption."
"Whatever it was, it killed them both. Miss Anabel ... she was a wayward one ... but she had a sweet nature... .*
"You're right," I said.
Again that sharp look in my direction. Then she shrugged her shoulders. "Ought never to have done it."
She turned and we went on our way. She paused by a door, tapped on it and a voice called, "Come in." Janet turned to me and put her fingers to her lips.
I heard the voice say: "Is that you, Janet?"
"It is, Mrs. Mateland."
I was right. It was Janet. I felt I had made some progress.
"Miss Susannah's home, Mrs. Mateland."
I went into the room.
So this was Emerald, the wife of David whom my father had killed in a duel. She was sitting in a chair away from the light She was evidently a tall woman and very slender; her expression was resigned, her face pale and her hair turning gray.
"Susannah ..." she said.
I heard myself say: "Oh, Aunt Emerald, it is good to see you."
"I thought you were never coming." Her voice sounded peevish.
"There were things to settle," I said, and kissed her papery cheek.
"This terrible thing," she began. "Esmond ..."
"I know," I murmured.
"It was sudden. That fearful illness. He was well the week before and then he suddenly sickened and was dead in a week."
"What was it?"
"Some sort of fever ... gastric fever. If only Elizabeth were alive now. She would have been such a comfort. Malcolm is so practical. He arranged everything. Oh, my dear Susannah, we must mourn together. I know you were going to marry him, but he was my son ... my only son. All I had. There's no one now."
"We must comfort each other," I said.
She gave a strange little snort.
"That's a bit incongruous, isn't it?"
I patted her hand because I was not sure what to reply.
"Well," she went on, "we shall have to try and get along now. I take it you don't want to turn me out of my home."
"Aunt Emerald! How can you suggest such a thing!"
"Well, I suppose I haven't the same rights now that Esmond has gone. As his mother, it was natural... oh, never mind now. What is to be will be. It's all so upsetting."
"I didn't intend to disturb anyone," I assured her. "I want it to be the same."
"Your travels have done you good, Susannah."
"Oh, you mean I've changed."
"I don't know. I suppose it's seeing you again after all this time. You seem different somehow. I suppose all that traveling would change a person."
"In what way, Aunt Emerald?" I asked anxiously.
"Just a feeling. I thought you seemed less ... well, I always felt you were hard, Susannah. I don't know... ."
"Tell me about your eyes, Aunt Emerald."
"They're getting steadily worse."
"Can nothing be done?"
"No, it's an old complaint. Lots of people have it. I've just got to endure it."
"I am sorry."
"There! That's what I mean. You've got gentler. You sound as though you really care. I didn't think you ever gave my eyes a thought."
I turned away. She was thinking my concern for her sight was purely altruistic. I was sorry for her, but I couldn't help seeing this affliction of hers as something to my advantage.
She went on: "Would you like some tea? Or would you like to go to your room first?"
A sudden thought had come to me. I must discover which was my room. If I waited until my bags were put in it I should be able to identify it by them.
I said: "I wonder if my bags have come yet."
"Pull the bell rope," she said. "I'll get them to bring some tea and they can let us know when your bags arrive."
Janet came back.
"Ask them to send up some tea, Janet," said Emerald.
Janet nodded and went out.
"Janet doesn't change much," I ventured.
"Janet... oh. She's too forward if you ask me. Seems to think she is in some special position. I was surprised she stayed after your father went all those years ago. She came with Anabel from her home, you know. You must have seen Anabel with your father."
"Yes."
"On that ridiculous island. Sometimes I think there's a streak of madness in the Matelands."
"Very likely," I said with a little laugh.
"That awful affair. Two brothers ... I'll never get over it. I was glad that Esmond was too young to know what it was all about. And then Joel's going off to that island and living there like some nabob or something. Your father always was so flamboyant. So was David for that matter. I married into a strange family."
"Well, that was a long time ago, Aunt Emerald."
"Many weary years ago. There must be a lot you have to tell me ... about them ... and everything."
"Sometime I will," I said.
Tea was brought in.
"Susannah, will you pour?" she asked. "I can't see very well. I'm apt to slop the tea over into the saucer."
I sat down, poured out and took a cup to her. There were some little cakes on a plate and some bread and butter.
"Esmond was very restless after you'd gone," she went on. "Really, Susannah, need you have stayed away so long?"
"It was so far away, you see, and having made that long journey, I felt I had to stay a little while."
"Trust you to find out your father's hiding place! And then you went back to Sydney and while you were away the whole thing blew up. What a climax to all that secret melodrama. Fitting in a way."
"It was ... horrible," I said vehemently.
"But you were well out of it, Susannah."
"Sometimes I wish ..."
She was waiting. I must be careful. I must not show my feelings too intensely. I had a feeling that Susannah had never felt deeply about anything that did not concern herself.
"I wish," I finished lamely, "that they had accompanied me to Sydney. Tell me of Esmond."
There was a brief silence, then she said: "It was a return of that mysterious illness he had before you went away. Do you remember?"
I nodded.
"He was ill then ... desperately ill. As you know, we thought that was the end ... but he recovered. We thought he would the second time. It was a great blow. Malcolm took over estate matters. He's very friendly with Jeff Carleton."
"Oh, is he?" I said.
"Yes. I believe Jeff thinks the place should have gone to Malcolm after Esmond. In fact I thought it might. But your grandfather always had a prejudice against Malcolm because of his grandfather. They hated each other, those two brothers. I never knew such a family for feuds."
I felt a tremor of uneasiness. I should know these people. I was skating on very thin ice and I must inevitably come to a spot where the ice was too thin—and then would be disaster.