Before I met the people who were to play an important part in my life, I learned something of them through Aunt Sophie’s descriptions. I knew that old Thomas, who spent his days on the seat looking over the duck pond had been a gardener up at St. Aubyn’s until the rheumatics ‘got to his legs’ and put an end to that. He still had his little cottage on the St. Aubyn estate which he used to tell anyone who was sitting beside him he had ‘for the term of his natural life’, which made it sound more like a prison sentence than the boon of which he was so proud. I was warned that I must say a quick good-day to Thomas when passing if I did not want to be drawn into reminiscences of the old days.

Then there was poor old Charlie, who had long ago said goodbye to any wits he might have had; and Major Cummings, who had served in India at the time of the Mutiny and spent his days recalling that important event.

Aunt Sophie referred to them as the “Old Men of the Green’. They assembled there each day when the weather permitted it and, said Aunt Sophie, their conversation was a mixed grill of Thomas’s cottage and rheumatism and the Indian Mutiny while poor Charlie sat there, nodding and listening with rapt attention as if it were all new to him.

They were the background figures the chorus, as it were. The people who interested me were those of my own age in particular the two girls from St. Aubyn’s Park and the Bell House.

Aunt Sophie explained: “There’s Tamarisk St. Aubyn. She’s a bit of a wild one. No wonder. The St. Aubyns mere and pere were wrapped up in themselves. Never much time for the youngsters. Of course, there were nurses and nannies … but a child needs special care from the right quarter.”

She looked at me almost wistfully. She knew that my mother would have been too obsessed by those lost ‘better days’ to have had time to try to give me some good ones.

“Merry pair, they were,” she went on.

“Parties … dancing. They had a riotous time. Up to London. Off to the Continent. You might say, what of it? They always had the nursemaids and governesses. Lily says it was unnatural.”

Tell me about the children. “

“There are Crispin and Tamarisk. Tamarisk is about your age.

Crispin’s quite a bit older ten years, I think. They had their son and I don’t think they wanted any more although as soon as the little mites appeared they could be handed over to someone to be looked after. But there would be that period before they arrived. Very restricting. Very inconvenient for the sort of life Mrs. St. Aubyn liked to live For a long time it seemed there would only be Crispin. He did not interfere with the merry life at St. Aubyn’s. I think they hardly knew him. You can imagine the sort of thing brought down to be inspected now and then. He had a nurse who thought the world of him. He doesn’t forget her. I will say that for him. He’s always looked after them. There are two of them, sisters. Gone a bit odd, one of them. Poor Flora. They’ve always been together. Never married, either of them. They’ve got a little cottage on the estate. Crispin sees they’re all right. He remembers his nanny.

But you were asking about the young ones. Well, the father died. Too much riotous living, people say. But they do say things like that, don’t they? Late nights, too much gadding up to Town and abroad . too much alcohol. In any case, it was all too much for Jonathan St. Aubyn. She went to pieces after that. They say she’s still too fond of the bottle . but people will say anything. It was a mercy that Crispin was of a responsible age when his father died. He took over. I believe he’s a great one for taking over. “

“And he looks after the place very well, doesn’t he?”

“Very much the squire ” and don’t you forget it” kind. Most admit it is just what the old place needed, but there are some who haven’t got a good word to say for him. He’s got a fine opinion of himself to make up for that, though. That’s the son of the house now the Lord of the Manor.”

“Is there a Lady of the Manor?”

“I suppose you’d say there was Mrs. St. Aubyn, the mother. But she’s hardly ever out of the house. Gave up when her husband died and took to invalidism. They were devoted to each other. And she didn’t care for anything but living the wild life with him. Crispin was married. “

Was? ” I asked.

“She ran away and left him. People said they weren’t surprised.”

“So he still has a wife?”

“No. She went to London and soon after there was an accident on the railway. She was killed.”

“How dreadful!”

“Some said it was just retribution for her sins. Pious old Josiah Dorian at the Bell House was sure of this. The more charitable said they could understand the poor girl wanted to get away from her husband.”

“It sounds very dramatic.”

“Well, dear, that depends on the way you look at it. We’ve got a mixed brew here, but you get that in any village. It all looks so peaceful and calm, but probe below the surface and you’re bound to find something you didn’t expect. It’s like turning over a stone to see what’s beneath. Ever done that? Try it one day and you’ll see what I mean.”

“So this Crispin, he’s married … and yet not.”

“It’s called being a widower. He’s rather young for that, but I suppose the poor girl couldn’t stand living with him. Perhaps it will warn others not to attempt it. Although, I must say that, with a grand place like St. Aubyn’s and he being master of it, it might be a temptation to some.”

“Tell me about Tamarisk.”

“That was what I was coming to. She must be a month or so older than you … or perhaps younger. I’m not sure. She was what they call an afterthought. I don’t think for a moment that merry couple wanted another child. Think of the jolly life Madam would have to give up for a few months. Well, Tamarisk arrived. It must have been at least ten years after the birth of Crispin.”

“They must have been very annoyed with her for being born.”

“Oh, it was all right once she was born. Then she was handed over to nurses. She wouldn’t be allowed to intrude. No wonder she’s said to be wilful and wayward. Like her brother. I expect the nurses gave in to them. It would be a nice easy job without interference from above. They wouldn’t want to upset that. Poor little things. Their parents must have been almost strangers to them. But perhaps I should say poor Mrs. St. Aubyn. Her life had been with her husband and she lost him. Maud Hetherington and I take it in turns to visit her. She doesn’t want to see us and I am sure we don’t want to see her. But Maud says it must be done, and there is no gainsaying Maud.”

“Shall I know them?”

“That’s what I’m coming to. But first the Dorians at the Bell House.

Nice place. Stands back from the road. Red brick. Mullioned windows.

Pity. “

“Why a pity?”

“Pity the Dorians are there. That could be a happy house. I’d like to live there. Rather large for me, I suppose, but we could use it. I think old Josiah Dorian can’t forget it was once a meeting house.

Quakers, most likely. It’s not exactly a church, but as near as makes no difference. A meeting place for people . the sort, I imagine, who think to laugh means a ticket to hell. It’s in that house still.

Hangs on, I suppose, and Josiah Dorian is not the man to change it.”

“There’s a girl there, isn’t there? You said a girl of about my age .. like Tamarisk St. Aubyn.”

“Yes, you’d be much of a much ness Poor girl! Lost her parents some time ago. Pity for her she came to her uncle and aunt.”

I came to my aunt. “

She laughed.

“Well, dear, I’m no Josiah Dorian.”

“I think I was very lucky.”

“Bless you, child. We both were. We’ll bring luck to each other. I’m sorry for poor Rachel in a place like that. It’s all very Sunday-go-to-meeting, if you know what I mean.

They can’t get servants to stay long. Mary Dorian weighs out the sugar and locks up the tea . at her husband’s command, they say. Josiah Dorian is a mean man. Rachel’s mother was Mary Dorian’s sister. Well, what I’m getting at is this. I’ve taken my time getting round to it because I wanted you to know the people you’d be with. That’s if I can fix it. It’s your education I’ve got in mind. I want you to go to school. a good school. “

“Wouldn’t that be costly?”

“We’ll manage when it’s necessary. But not yet. In another year, say.

In the meantime. Tamarisk has a governess up at the house Miss Lloyd. Rachel shares the governess. She goes along each day to St. Aubyn’s and has lessons with Tamarisk. You see what I’m driving at? “

“You think that I… ?”

Aunt Sophie nodded vigorously.

“I haven’t quite fixed it yet, but I’m going to. I can’t see why you shouldn’t join them. I don’t think there’ll be any difficulty. I’ll have to get Mrs. St. Aubyn to agree, but she doesn’t care much what goes on, and I don’t expect opposition there. Then there is old Josiah Dorian. I suppose I’ll have to get him to agree, too. However, we’ll see. It would certainly solve our problem for a time.”

I felt excited by the prospect.

“It would mean your going to St. Aubyn’s every morning. It will be nice to be with people of your own age.”

While we were talking Lily put her head round the door.

“That Miss Hetherington’s here,” she said.

“Bring her in,” cried Aunt Sophie. She turned to me.

“We’re going to meet our vicar’s daughter his right hand and good counsellor in whose capable hands lies the fate of Harper’s Green.”

When she came into the room I saw that she was all Aunt Sophie had said she was. I recognized her power at once. Tall, large, hair drawn severely back from a face under a small hat which was perched on the top of her head and decorated with forget-me-nots, she wore a blouse, the neck of which was held almost up to her chin with supports and which gave her a look of severity; her eyes, behind her spectacles, were brown and alert; her teeth were slightly prominent; and about her was that unmistakable air of authority.