“That stone-the one over which you were bending-it covers the entrance to their family vault. You could not read the inscription. It has been obliterated for years. Only a letter here and there remains. On my first visit I pored over it. Without success. Later, in trance, I read it clearly.” She intoned the words: “ ‘Here I-Ever Lye,’ Spelt with a Y, you know! A play upon the name Everly. Strange mixture of the Pun and the Funeral Pall!”

“Strange indeed-”

Miss Silver’s murmured words may not have referred entirely to an Elizabethan partiality for punning. Miranda’s eyes, brown and rather prominent, stopped rolling and contemplated her in a fixed manner.

“You will stay with the Craddocks, I hope. Peveril is Marvellous-an inspiration to all Seekers. You will find it a Privilege to belong to his household. I may say a Great Privilege. Dear Emily, of course, is earthbound. One wonders why-” She shook her head with the air of a warning Sybil. “But he cannot fail to raise her.”

Miss Silver hastened to say,

“Mrs. Craddock is all that is kind.”

“Oh, kind-” Miranda let go of the cloak with a free gesture which was obviously intended to dismiss Mrs. Craddock’s kindness as irrelevant. By the time she had recaptured it the question of dear Emily’s exact spiritual status or the lack of it had gone down the wind. She reverted to her original theme.

“You will stay. They will need you. She is frail. And the children-sadly uncontrolled. Peveril believes in the self-expression of the Ego, but I do not follow him all the way. Not with children. For the adult, yes! Undoubtedly! Entirely! But for the untrained child intelligence, no! There must be Leading, Guiding-even at times Discipline! You agree with me?”

“I do indeed.”

Miranda waved hand and cloak together.

“We must talk of it. Peveril must be made to see reason. His work must not be disturbed. And Emily requires relief. The young girls whom she has had were useless-no experience, no authority. Miss Dally left after a week because Maurice put a spider down her back and Benjy poured the ink over her hair, and all she did was to burst into tears and pack her bag. Fluffy fair hair and pale blue eyes-most unsuitable! Miss Ball equally so, but a different type. A morose girl. She stayed for a fortnight, and I told Emily at the time that she was a good riddance. I saw her go by to the station, and the words sprang unbidden to my lips. I spoke them aloud. Not to Emily Craddock, because she was not there, but to Augustus Remington. He lives next door to me. You must meet him, A gentle soul-he does exquisite needlework. Have you met Elaine and Gwyneth Tremlett yet?*”

“Not yet. I only came yesterday.”

“You will do so. Rather earthbound, but pleasant neighbours. They adore Peveril, but it would have been better if they had stayed at Wyshmere. Elaine had a folk-dancing class there- she misses it. Gwyneth, of course, can go on with her weaving. But it would be better if they had not come-I have told them so frankly. I always say just what I think. If it is not received in the same spirit, that is not my fault. What made you come here?”

“I answered Mr. Craddock’s advertisement. Do you know, I believe I hear the children. They undertook to meet me here.”

With a sweeping gesture Miranda folded her arms and her cloak across her capacious bosom.

“Then I will leave you. But we must meet again. Together we will see what can be done to help Emily. Goodbye!” She went off with a swinging stride, her dark red hair waving in the wind.

As soon as she was at a safe distance, the children came tumbling downhill out of a patch of. scrubby woodland which looked as if it might harbour primroses in the spring. They were in high spirits, laughing and shouting.

“Did the masonry fly at you?”

“I’d like to see it fly-I want to see it fly!”

“I haven’t got any spiders! They go somewhere in the winter!”

“They climb up drain-pipes and drown themselves in your bath!”

“Don’t want spiders in my bath!”

Jennifer said,

“That was Miranda. She thinks we want discipline. Maurice put an earwig in her tea, and she poured the whole cup down the back of his neck.”

“It’s better to leave her alone,” said Maurice gloomily. “Is it tea-time yet? Shall we go home? I’m hungry.”

They went home.

CHAPTER X

These was a cold wind blowing in the park. Leafless trees made a pattern against the lowering sky. There was a kind of prickle in the air, which generally means that it may begin to snow at any moment. It was not the sort of day to tempt anyone to linger, but Thomasina Elliot and Peter Brandon were not only lingering, they were actually sitting on one of the green park seats. There is, of course, nothing so warming to the blood as a good brisk quarrel. Not that either Peter or Thomasina would have admitted that they were quarrelling. Thomasina was merely refusing to be bullied, while Peter was engaged in pointing out the folly of her ways. In an atmosphere of pure reason no doubt, and without any undignified heat, but he had no right to be doing it. After all, at twenty-one you are of age. You can record a vote or make a will, you can get married without asking anyone’s leave. You are, in fact, an adult human being. And Thomasina was twenty-two. She had been an adult human being for thirteen months and ten days. It was outrageous of Peter to behave as if he was a Victorian parent, or the sort of guardian that you come across in old-fashioned books. She said so.

“Thank you-I don’t feel in the least like a parent! And thank God I’m not your guardian!”

Rightly considering that she had scored a point, Thomasina produced an odiously complacent smile.

“It was rather clever of me really.”

“Clever!”

“Well, it was, you know. I don’t suppose I’d heard their names for years and years and years. Well, at least five, because that is when Aunt Barbara was down at that folk-weaving place, Wyshmere. She wanted to learn how to do it so as to teach Tibbie.”

“Tibbie?”

“Jeanie’s sister-the one that was crippled in an accident. She got her a little hand-loom, and she made scarves and did quite well with them.”

“Who got who a loom, and who did quite well with it?”

She exercised an exasperated patience.

“Aunt Barbara gave Tibbie a loom of course. She never got very good at it herself, but Tibbie did.”

Peter said in the tone of one who wouldn’t agree with himself if he could help it, let alone with anyone else,

“I don’t remember a thing about it.”

“Because you were abroad. But that’s where she met the Miss Tremletts-”

“Tibbie?”

The patience vanished, the exasperation became a good deal more evident.

“No, of course not! Aunt Barbara-at Wyshmere-I told you! And the minute Inspector Abbott mentioned their names-”

“Why on earth should he mention their names?”

“He was telling me about Anna going to Deep End and there being an arty-crafty Colony there. As soon as he said two Miss Tremletts who did weaving and folk-dancing and their names were Gwyneth and Elaine, something went off in my head like striking a match and I remembered Aunt Barbara and Wyshmere. So I thought supposing they were the same-”

“Supposing who were the same as what?”

Thomasina’s eyes became considerably brighter. Some young men would have been alarmed, but Peter had a good deal of natural resistance.

“Peter, you are doing it on purpose!”

“My good girl, if you keep flinging about she’s and who’s and what’s-”

“I am not your good girl!”

“Agreed.”

“You are simply pretending not to understand. I thought if these Miss Tremletts were the same as Aunt Barbara’s ones-and they were practically bound to be, because you simply couldn’t imagine two families giving names like Elaine and Gwyneth-”