She watched my mouth as I quoted the verse, and finished with me: ‘. never to be told. “

“That’s it,” I said.

“I remember now.”

“Lucy made it,” she said and touched the frame lovingly.

“She framed it, did she?”

She nodded.

“Seven for a secret never to be told,” she said.

“It must never be told.” She shook her head.

“Never … never … never.

That’s what the birds are saying. “

I examined it closely.

“The birds look rather evil,” I said.

“That’s because it’s the secret. Oh dear, he’s waking up.” She went to the cot and picked up the doll.

The room seemed to assume an un canniness I was filled with an eagerness to know more of her and to probe what was behind this strange delusion. I wondered whether, if she could be made to realize the doll was only a doll and that the baby she believed it to be was now a grown man, she might return to normality.

Then I was overcome by a desire to get away and I heard myself say: “I think I should be going now. I’ll let myself out.”

As I was about to descend the stairs I heard the sound of voices below. I was dismayed. I had not heard anyone come in.

“Flora!” It was Lucy’s voice. She came out and was clearly astonished to see me descending the staircase.

“I’ve been with Miss Flora upstairs,” I stammered.

“Oh … she invited you up here, did she?”

I hesitated.

“She has been … er … showing me the nursery.”

Lucy looked rather angry. Then a man came into the hall. It was Crispin St. Aubyn.

“This is Miss Cardingham’s niece,” Lucy said.

“Flora asked her in.”

He nodded in my direction.

“I’ll be going,” I said.

Lucy took me to the front door and I went out.

I sped away.

What a strange afternoon that had been! I could not stop thinking of the seven magpies. They were rather sinister-looking birds. Lucy had evidently cut out the picture from a book and framed it for Flora.

Could it be to remind her that there was some secret which had to be kept? Flora’s mind was like that of a child. She might have to be reminded often of certain things. Perhaps the picture was just from a book she had loved in her childhood and Lucy had framed the picture for her.

In any case, it was very interesting, I was thinking, as I sped home to Aunt Sophie.

It was a few days later when I discovered a side to Aunt Sophie’s nature which I had not suspected before. At The Rowans there was a small room which led from her bedroom. It must have been a dressing-room, but she used it as a little study.

I wanted to speak to her about some trivial matter and Lily told me she thought she was in her study tidying a drawer, so I went up. I knocked on the bedroom door and, as there was no answer, I opened it and looked in.

The study door was open.

“Aunt Sophie,” I called.

She came out and stood in the doorway.

There was something different about her. She looked sad, as I had never seen her before, and a tear was glistening on her eyelashes.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

She hesitated for a moment and then said: “Oh no … nothing. I’m just a silly old fool. I’ve been writing to some one I knew in the past.”

“I’m sorry I interrupted. Lily said she thought you were tidying a drawer.”

“Yes, I did say I was going to do that. Well, come in, dear. It’s time you knew.”

I went into the study.

“Sit down. I was writing to your father,” she said.

“To my father?”

“I do write to him now and then. I knew him very well, you see … when I was younger.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s in Egypt. He used to be in the Army, but he left all that. I’ve been writing to him over the years. It goes a long way back.” She looked at me as though she were not quite sure of something. Then she seemed to come to a decision.

She went on: “I met your father first … before your mother did. It was at someone’s house party. We were very friendly from the start. He was asked to Cedar Hall. That was when your mother came home from school. She was eighteen then and really beautiful. Well, he fell in love with her.”

“But he left her!”

“That was some time after. It didn’t work. He wasn’t fitted to settling down. He was a very merry person. He liked the social life.

He drank a little . not too much, but perhaps verging on it. He gambled. He liked the ladies.

He is not a very serious person. Well, they parted about a year after you were born. There was a divorce, as you know. There was another woman. He married her, but that didn’t turn out very well either. “

“He doesn’t seem to be a very reliable sort of person.”

“He had lots of charm to make up for it.”

“I see. And you write to him.”

“Yes. We were always good friends.”

“Do you mean he might have married you instead of my mother?”

She smiled rather ruefully.

“He clearly preferred to marry your mother.”

“You might have been my mother,” I said.

“I suppose if I had been you wouldn’t be who you are. We wouldn’t want to change that, would we?”

She was laughing at me . her old self again.

“I don’t know. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so plain.”

“Oh nonsense! Your mother was a very beautiful woman. I was the plain sister.”

“I don’t believe you were.”

“Let’s forget about this plainness. I just want you to know that your father writes to me and he always wants news of you. He knows that you are here with me and he is very pleased about that. He is going to help with your education, which may be a little expensive if you go to that school with Tamarisk and Rachel, which I hope you will be doing in a few months.”

“I’m glad he’s doing that,” I said.

“I would have managed somehow, but it is a help and it’s good of him to offer.”

“Well, he is my father.”

“He hasn’t seen you since he left, but, Freddie, he would have done so if your mother had let him. Perhaps now …”

“If he were to come home, you mean?”

“I don’t think there is any sign of that just yet. But of course, he may.”

Does it make you sad to write to him? “

“People get sentimental sometimes. I remember the days of my youth.”

“You must have been very unhappy when he married my mother instead of you.”

She did not answer and I put my arms round her.

“I’m sorry,” I cried.

“I wish he had married you! Then we should all have been together. He would have been here with us.”

She shook her head.

“He was not the sort to settle. He would have been off.” Her lips curled into a rather tender smile as she went on: “And you are mine now, aren’t you … just as though I were your mother.

My niece . his daughter. That’s what I like to think. “

“Do you feel better now that I know?” I asked.

“Much,” she assured me.

“I’m glad you know. Now let’s start counting our blessings.”

I knew I had plenty to count, especially when I compared my fate with that of Rachel. I often did that, because what had happened to us was similar. I was with my aunt and she was with an aunt and uncle. I had always been aware of my good fortune, but I did not realize the extent of it until I discovered something from Rachel.

I had always known she was afraid. She never actually said she was, for she rarely talked about her life at the Bell House, but I sensed there was a great deal to tell.

She and I were far more friendly than either of us was with Tamarisk.

I felt protective towards her and I think she regarded me as a true friend.

She often came to The Rowans and we would sit in the garden and talk.

I had for some time had the feeling that she wanted to tell me something and was finding it difficult to do so. I noticed that when we were laughing together and there was some reference to the Bell House a change would come over her, and I could not help being aware of her reluctance to leave me when we drew near the place and it was time for her to go home.

One day, when we were in the garden, I said to her:

“What is it like at the Bell House? I mean really like?”

She stiffened and there was a long pause. Then she burst out: “Oh, Freddie, it frightens me.”

“What?” I asked.

“I don’t know … quite. It just does.”

“Is it your uncle?”

“He’s such a good man, you see. He is always talking about God … and to Him … like Abraham or one of those people in the Bible. How sinful a lot of things are … things that people wouldn’t think of.

I suppose that is because he is so good. “

“It’s supposed to be good to care about other people, not frighten them.”

“When Aunt Hilda bought a comb for her hair he thought that was sinful. It was a nice comb and it made a difference when she put it in her hair. It was dinnertime and we were at the table. I thought it looked very nice. He was angry. He said, “Vanity, vanity, all is vanity. You look like the whore of Babylon!” Poor Aunt Hilda, she was quite white. She was so upset. He took the comb out of her hair and it fell round her shoulders. He was like an angry prophet in the Bible . like Moses when the people made the golden calf. He isn’t like a person . not like one of us. “

“My Aunt Sophie is kind and loving. I think that’s better than quoting the Bible and behaving like Abraham. After all, he was ready to kill his son as a sacrifice when God told him to. Aunt Sophie would never have done that to make herself look good in God’s eyes.”