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221I don't understand; he's . . . he's so wonderful, so kind and thoughtful.' 'Have you ever asked him if he likes me?' 'Yes. Yes, I have, dear.''Oh; you have? And what did he say?''Well-' Victoria wagged her head a little before she replied, 'It was silly, but he said he looked upon you as if you were my mother because you acted like a mother who doesn't want to lose her daughter; and that's why you . . . you weren't fond of him. He said'-she gave a little laugh now-'mothers-in-law never like sons-in-law.''That's what he said?''Well, you've always looked after me. I told him that; and, too, that I didn't know what my life would have been without you. He used to laugh about it at first, but I think now he understands.''Yes, I'm sure he does.' *v'Wish me happiness, dear.''I do. I do. That's all I wish you, ever, is happiness. But .

. . but your life is going to be different from now on. You understand that? And when you come back and go to live at the Grove there will be no me, no Jessie, no Peg, Mary, or Florrie; no Meadow 222House to run to. Have you thought about all that?''Oh yes, yes, of course I have. I know I shall have to get used to their servants and I'll have to learn how to run a house. But, you know, I've had a lot of practice, haven't I? And I haven't done badly in that line, have I now?''No. No, you haven't done badly at all. You've done very well in that side of things.'Victoria laughed happily now as she said, 'Don't you worry, dear. I'll adjust. I know I shall. And anyway, if I get stuck I'll run to Douglas. He's so nice, entirely different from Lionel, but so very nice. Oh dear! listen to that noise downstairs. I ... I've got to face them all again. His father was very funny, wasn't he, at the breakfast? He didn't drink as much as I thought he would. And, you know, he's been very nice to me. I ... I didn't care for him at first, but he makes jokes, he makes me laugh.''I'm glad of that. Well, come on, button your coat up.'The next moment they were both enfolded tightly, and after they kissed, Bridget pressed Victoria towards the door, saying, 223'Go along. Go along. I'll be down in a minute.'Now she watched the girl for whom she had cared since she was eight years old move definitely out of her life. She tried to control the choking in her throat, but when she could not blink away the tears she hurried to the dressing table, lifted the china lid off a bowl, picked up the puff and dabbed her face quickly with the scented talcum. Then hastily taking up a piece of soft washleather, she rubbed it vigorously over her cheeks to remove any trace of the powder.When she reached the hall, a way was quickly made for her among the laughing guests in order that she could reach the door, there to see the groom helping his wife into the open coach to begin the drive into Newcastle, from where they would start the first part of their journey to France. The coach was surrounded by more cheering and waving guests, prominent among whom were the five Forrester girls and, mingling with them, the three Wright men.Douglas wasn't among them; he was standing on the steps below Bridget, and at this moment he was not thinking of the couple 224 driving off but was remarking to himself about the position of the Wright men's arms about the lively Forrester girls, which, he was sure, portended high jinks when they should all adjourn back to Grove House, and they would likely end up in the barn where the staff would be celebrating. He recalled quite clearly the last time this had happened. It was on Lionel's twenty-first birthday, six years ago. The eventual result of that night had been the taking of long holidays by at least two young ladies.Well, there was one thing for sure, he wouldn't be there tonight; what was more, he wouldn't be missed. Yet, and he smiled to himself now, Sarah Forrester had for some time looked at him in a certain way, even though he hadn't a penny and would never be able to afford a wife. But that had been before he started selling his chippings; of late her look had become more coy and her lisp more affected than ever.A large section of the company, the younger ones, were running down the drive after the coach; their elders were returning to the house, some strolling into the drawing-room,

225 others into the dining-room to sample any drinks that were still available.It was almost two hours later when the last of the guests piled into their carriages and made for Grove House. William Filmore was one of them. He stood before Bridget at the front door. His face was now flushed, and his voice thick as he leant towards her, saying, 'You did her proud, Miss Bridget, proud. Something to be said for you, you know. Oh, yes, something to be said for you. Will you be dropping in to see me? . . . You don't answer,' he said; then his jowls wagged from side to side as he added, 'Then you know what they say about Mohammed and that mountain,' and his tone now changing, and his whisky-laden breath fanning her face, he muttered, 'Stiffnecked to the end. But by God! I admire your guts. You should have been a man, you know.' He turned from her, laughing, and as he shambled down the steps Douglas came to her side and in a low voice said, 'May I pop in and see you tomorrow?''Please do,' she replied, then turned to where the other guests, mainly her own, were preparing to leave. There was the accountant, 226 William Bennett, his wife Nell, his daughter Nancy and son Jeff, and each in turn shook her hand and thanked her. Then there was her agent, Arthur Fathers, and his son Philip. Arthur's wife had died just a month beforehand. Their farewells were solemn, as befitted their recent bereavement. And lastly there was Andrew Kemp, his wife Jane, and their son Richard.Previously in an aside she had asked Andrew to stay behind, for she would like a word with him. And so now, the door closed on the parting guests, she looked at Mrs Kemp, whom she had never called Jane, yet always called her husband Andrew, thereby keeping to her father's pattern here, and including Richard within the gesture she made with her hand, she said, 'Would you mind waiting just a few minutes? There's something I would like to discuss with Andrew. Jessie here will show you to the breakfast room.' She turned round and beckoned to Jessie, then added, It's about the only place in the house that isn't upset at the moment.'After watching the mother and son follow Jessie down the corridor she turned to her solicitor, saying, 'Will you come upstairs a

227minute? There's too much going on down here; it'll take them hours to clear away.'She did not lead him to her bedroom because that had been used as a ladies' room for the guests. But she led him to the end of the corridor, to a deep window seat and, sitting down with a plop, she beckoned him to do the same. And now, looking at him, she said, 'Have I done the right thing, Andrew?''Well, Miss Bridget, it was something you wanted to do.''No; I didn't want to do it, Andrew, but I felt that the shock would be too much for her; she would never have been able to regain confidence in herself. Let us face it, Andrew.

Victoria is not a ... well, a person who could deal with a calamity. And to lose him at that stage, so near the wedding, would surely have sent her into a decline. True or fancied, it would have been a decline.''Oh, I don't know. I can't say I agree with you there, Miss Bridget, because she's always appeared to me a bit of a flibbertigibbet: she thought of nothing but spending money on dress, and your money. She never did anything for it.'

228'Oh yes, she did, Andrew. She kept the books and did the housekeeping, and she was quite good at that, you know.''Well, all I can say is, she's going to have a job keeping the books and doing the housekeeping where her future lies. And it pains me to think that two thousand pounds of your good money, besides her five hundred, is going to that man, a ne'er-do-well, if ever I've come across one, and I've come across a few in my time.''Andrew.''Yes? Is there something more? I can tell by your voice, and when you say my name like that I've learned over the years to beware of it. Don't tell me you want to give them more money; for I would really get on my hind legs, I really would.''It isn't about them at all, it's about Joe . . . Joe Skinner.''Oh, yes.' He hitched himself along the seat towards her. 'I heard about that just this morning. Well, it was in the papers. I really couldn't believe it. He seemed a decent enough fellow, didn't he? You had taken an interest in him and your father did before 229you. To cut his brother's throat, it seems impossible.'It is impossible. He didn't do it.''Well now, what makes you so sure of that? Why have they picked him up and named him if there isn't some proof?''I've seen him. I went last night. He swore to me that he knew nothing whatever about it. It should happen that he was in the wood that night and whom did he speak to but Mr7ilmore.''Mr ... ?''No; not the one just gone, but the younger son, Douglas. He's a sculptor. He was examining some stone and Joe spoke to him. It was shortly afterwards that Douglas found the body. No; not the body, for the man wasn't then quite dead. He dashed back to the house and got the men and a cart to take him into hospital. This is what I understand from Douglas and he apparently told the police he saw four horsemen, his brother Lionel, and three others, riding through the wood; but that he also saw this man. But this isn't what caused the police to arrest Joe. It was his mother: she told the police straightaway that Joe had threatened his brother

230time and again. And Joe admits he was out looking for him to prevent him from doing something; I don't know what and he won't say. But Andrew, everything . . . everything is against him. Yet I know he is innocent, and . . . and what I want you to do is to engage an attorney, the best.''Well, well, well. I can understand your worry, but it isn't really up to you to prove him innocent.''No, / can't prove him innocent, but an advocate or barrister, or whatever, they can get to the bottom of things. Get a man from London.''London? Oh. Oh, they don't come cheap.''Oh, Andrew, what does the money matter?''It matters. It matters, my dear. Somebody's got to keep a hand on the reins where you're concerned. Two thousand, five hundred a year, for how long? How long do you think you'll have to pay that? It's going to take more than half your profits from the factories. And Fathers tells me his rent collectors are having a devil of a job to rake the money in from around Gateshead and Low Fell.'

231'Yes, I know that, I know that. But what they lose there is well made up in Jarrow. Jarrow is thriving.''Yes, but what did I hear about them thriving? Some of them are buying their own houses through Palmers. Did you know that?''Yes, I did know that, and good luck to them. Andrew, stick to the point. The point is, I want you to engage someone to defend Joe. Don't think of the cost; I want the best for him.'The old man stared at her. He wetted his lips, then nipped the end of his nose between his finger and thumb and said, 'You've always been interested in that fellow since he was a bit of a lad, and you've pushed him on. I remember your father remarking to me that you had got him to go to night-school or some such. And I remember exactly what I said: "What good is that going to do for a man in a blacking factory?" And I've always remembered what your father answered because he was very good at quipping. He said, "She's likely aiming to bring light into his life with a black candle." Now wasn't that quick thinking?'

232When she didn't answer he turned from her, bent forward and attempted to press his tight trouser legs further down over his knees; then, getting to his feet, he said, 'Well, I'll do as you say. But of course, I'll have to think about it. And I'll have to take advice on it, because I'm not conversant with London barristers.'She, too, stood up and, her voice gentle now, she said, Thank you, Andrew. But . . . but will you do it as soon as possible?'He patted her arm as he answered, 'Yes, I'll start yesterday.' Then, his bullet head nodding, he added, 'You know, girl, I'm very fond of you. If I'd had a daughter, I'd have wished her to be made of the same pattern. And you know, I often think of you and wish that soon, quite soon, because age is an illusion and youth flies swiftly, so I repeat, quite soon, you would meet someone that could match your mentality and would be a friend to you as well as a husband. Because that is what is needed in marriage . . . friendship. And that is why there are so many unhappy people in the world, because when love flies up the chimney the heat goes out of the ashes. And love does fly up the 233chimney, my dear, that love that drives you . . .' He stopped; then inclining his head on one side, he asked, 'Dare I say it to you, you a young lady, that the love that drives you to bed with its first flush fades. It's bound to fade, and then, as I said, if it doesn't leave friendship behind, life becomes a withered thing. I speak from experience, my dear, for I have so many clients that are walking about dead because they didn't prepare for love dying on them/'Oh, Andrew, Andrew, you'll have me in tears.' Her eyelids were blinking, yet she smiled as she said, 'I wouldn't dare now contemplate marriage, knowing the pitfalls. You've put me off for life.' And at this she bent forward and in a swift movement kissed him on the cheek, then said softly, 'Who would want a husband when I've got you for a friend?'He took the compliment in silence but, bending his arm, he held it out to her and she placed her hand in it, and together they walked back along the corridor and down the stairs; and they did not exchange any further words.

10'Oh, Douglas, if only you hadn't recognized him.''But I did, Bridget; I did recognize him, and he recognized me. He admitted it. Don't forget, I was the one who found his brother: when I was questioned I just had to say who had passed that way. I didn't know it was him; I only knew it was a workman.

Then, when they asked me to come to court, and I saw the man, I had to say yes, because he recognized me. Anyway, what could you have done if I hadn't recognized him?''I could have explained that he couldn't possibly have been there in the wood that night.''Oh, Bridget, how on earth could you?'*I could, I could. I would have got Lily to swear that he hadn't been home, and that 235her neighbour, Mrs Leary . . . oh, they would have sworn all right.''But where on earth could you have said he had been?'She now thrust her face towards him and she practically ground out the words,

'With me.''What! What do you mean, with you?''I could say he spent the night with me.'He looked at her in utter amazement, saying, 'But why would you say that? I mean, you're a lady, he's a working fellow.''Well, that's just it; because I'm a lady my word would have been taken.*'You mean to say you would sully your good name by saying, he . . . he . . . ?''Yes, Douglas, I would have sullied this good name for what it is worth to save a man from going to the gallows.'He stared at her in silence; then he shook his head slowly as he said, 'There must be more in it than that, Bridget.''What are you inferring?'*I don't rightly know; I'm asking you. Taking the liberty of a friend, I'm asking you.'She turned slightly away from him as he1