“This way,” said Mrs. Lincroft and pushed open a heavy door.

We were in an enormous hall about sixty feet long with a vaulted ceiling and four window embrasures. Although the windows were large the panes were small and leaded which meant that there were dark shadows although it was only afternoon. At one end was a dais on which stood a grand piano, at the other a minstrels’ gallery. There was a staircase close to the gallery and two arched openings through which I caught sight of a dark passage. On the limewashed walls were weapons, and a suit of armor stood at the foot of the staircase.

“The hall is rarely used nowadays,” said Mrs. Lincroft. “Once balls were held there…and there were musical occasions. But since Lady Stacy’s death and since er…Well, since then, Sir William has done little entertaining. An occasional dinner party…but of course we shall be using the hall now there is a young mistress of the house. I daresay we shall have some musical entertainments too.”

“Shall I be expected to—?”

“I daresay.”

I tried to imagine myself seated at the grand piano on the dais. I could hear Pietro’s laugh. “A concert pianist at last. Through the back door, one might say…No, through the castle gates.”

As Mrs. Lincroft led the way to the staircase, I laid my hand on the carved banister and saw the dragons and the fierce-looking creatures engraved there.

“I’m sure,” I said, “that no animals ever looked quite like these.” Mrs. Lincroft again smiled her quiet smile, and I went on: “I wonder why they always wanted to frighten people away. People who want to frighten others are very often frightened themselves. That’s the answer. They must have been really afraid…hence these fierce-looking creatures.”

“Calculated, as they say, to strike terror into the hearts of the invaders.”

“They would do it most successfully, I’m sure. It’s the long shadows…just as much as those carvings, which are really too fantastic to be true, that give this feeling of…menace.”

“You are sensitive to atmosphere, Mrs. Verlaine. You will be hoping that there are no ghosts in the house. Are you superstitious?”

“That’s something we all deny until we are put to the test. Then most of us prove we are.”

“You mustn’t be here, you know. In a place like this where people have lived for centuries within the same walls stories circulate. A servant sees her own shadow and swears it is a ghost in gray. Easily done, Mrs. Verlaine, in a house like this.”

“I don’t think I am going to be afraid of my own shadow.”

“I know how I felt when I first came here. I remember arriving in this hall and standing here terrified.” She shivered at the recollection.

“And all turned out well, I suppose.”

“I found…a place in this house…in time.” She shook herself slightly as though shaking off past memories. “Now, I think first to the schoolroom. I will have tea sent up there. I am sure you’re ready for it.”

We had reached a gallery in which hung several portraits and I noticed some fine tapestries which I intended to examine later, for their subjects seemed most intriguing.

She opened a door and said: “Mrs. Verlaine is here.”

I followed her into a lofty room and there were the three girls. They made a charming picture, one of them on the window seat, another seated at a table and a third standing with her back to the fireplace on either side of which stood two great firedogs.

The one in the window seat came toward me and I recognized her at once, because I had seen her coming down the aisle on the arm of her bridegroom. She looked so shy—she was uncertain as yet, I guessed, of her new dignity as mistress of the house; and indeed it was incongruous to think of her as such. She looked like a child.

“How do you do, Mrs. Verlaine?” The words were spoken as though she had rehearsed them many times. She held out her hand and I took it. As it lay for those few seconds limply in mine I felt sorry for her and knew I wanted to protect her. “We are glad you have come,” she continued in that stilted way.

Her hair was certainly her crowning glory. It was the color of corn in August, and little tendrils escaped to nestle on her low white forehead and at the nape of her neck. It was the only vital thing about her.

I told her I was glad to be here, and was looking forward to my work.

“I am looking forward to working with you,” she said, and her smile was sweet. “Allegra! Alice!”

Allegra left the fireplace and came toward me. Her thick dark curly hair was tied back with a red ribbon; her eyes were black and bold, her skin inclined to be sallow.

“So you’ve come to teach us music, Mrs. Verlaine,” she said.

“I hope you’re eager to learn,” I replied, not without asperity for my association with pupils, as well as Mrs. Rendall’s warning, told me to expect trouble with this one.

“Should I be?” Oh yes, she was going to be difficult.

“If you want to learn to play the piano, yes.”

“I don’t think I want to learn anything…at least things which teachers teach.”

“Perhaps when you are older and wiser you will change your mind.” Oh dear, I thought, engaging in verbal battles so soon was a very bad sign.

I turned from her to look at the third girl, who had been sitting at the table.

“Come, Alice,” said Mrs. Lincroft.

Alice stood before me and made a demure curtsy. I guessed her to be of the same age as Allegra—about twelve or thirteen—although being smaller she looked younger. She radiated neatness and wore a white frilled apron over her gray gabardine dress; her long light brown hair was held back from her rather severe little face by a blue velvet band.

“Alice will be a good pupil,” said her mother tenderly.

“I’ll try to be,” replied Alice with a shy smile. “But Edith…er Mrs. Stacy…is very good.”

I smiled at Edith, who flushed a little and said: “I hope Mrs. Verlaine will think so.”

Mrs. Lincroft said to Edith: “I asked for tea to be brought up here. I wonder if you will wish to stay and…”

“Why yes,” said Edith. “I shall want to talk to Mrs. Verlaine.”

I gathered that everyone was a little embarrassed by the new status Edith had acquired in the household since her marriage.

When the tea arrived I saw it was of the kind we used to have in the schoolroom at home—big brown earthenware pot and the milk in a china toby jug. A cloth was put on the table and bread and butter and cakes laid out.

“Perhaps you will be able to tell Mrs. Verlaine how far you have progressed with your studies,” suggested Mrs. Lincroft.

“I’m eager to hear.”

“Miss Elgin recommended you, didn’t she?” said Allegra.

“That’s so.”

“So you used to be a pupil.”

“I did.”

She nodded laughing, as though the idea of my being a pupil was incongruous. I was beginning to understand that Allegra liked to take the stage. But it was Edith who interested me—not only because I was so curious about her life and because she, a young girl, was mistress of this big house, but because she was clearly something of a musician. I could sense it by the manner in which her personality changed when she talked of music. She glowed, and became almost confident.

While we talked a servant came to say that Sir William was asking for Mrs. Lincroft.

“Thank you, Jane,” she said. “Pray tell him that I will be with him in a few moments. Alice, as soon as tea is over, you can show Mrs. Verlaine her room.”

“Yes, Mamma,” said Alice.

As soon as Mrs. Lincroft had gone the atmosphere changed subtly. I wondered what this meant, for the housekeeper had given me the impression of being an extremely gentle woman; there was a certain firmness about her, but I did not think she was one who would impose her personality on a young girl—particularly one as high spirited as Allegra appeared to be.

Allegra said: “We expected someone older than you. You aren’t all that old to be a widow.”

Three pairs of eyes were studying me intently. I said: “Yes, I was widowed after a very few years of marriage.”

“Why did your husband die?” pursued Allegra.

“Perhaps Mrs. Verlaine would rather not speak of it,” suggested Edith quietly.

“What nonsense!” retorted Allegra. “Everyone likes talking about death.”

I raised my eyebrows. “It’s true,” went on the irrepressible Allegra. “Look at Cook. She’ll go into the gruesome details of her late lamented—her name for him—whenever you ask her…and you don’t even have to ask. She revels in them. So it’s nonsense to say people don’t like talking about death, because they do.”

“Perhaps Mrs. Verlaine is different from Cook,” put in Alice in a quiet little voice which was scarcely audible. Poor little Alice, I thought, as the housekeeper’s daughter she is not exactly accepted as one of them, although she is allowed to share their lessons.

I turned to her and said: “My husband died of a heart attack. It’s something that can happen at any time.”

Allegra looked toward her two companions as though she were expecting to see them collapse.

“Of course,” I went on, “there are sometimes signs that an attack is imminent. People work too hard, worry…”

Edith said timidly: “Perhaps we should change the subject. Do you like teaching, Mrs. Verlaine, and have you taught many people?”

“I like teaching when my pupils respond…not otherwise; and I have taught a number of people.”

“How does one respond?” asked Allegra.

“By loving the piano?” suggested Edith.

“That is exactly so,” I said. “If you love music, if you want to give the pleasure to others which music gives to you, you will play well and enjoy your playing.”