Midsummer's Eve

Mr. Tamblin went on: "I have already spoken to Miss Annora Cadorson of your claim.

She finds it hard to believe, knowing her father so well.”

"I never knew him," she said to me. "He was off when I was too little. He deserted my mother and left her to bring me up on her own.”

I said: "My father was a man who always shouldered his responsibilities.”

"Well, this was one he wanted to forget had ever been his.”

Mr. Tamblin coughed and said: "Miss Maria Cadorson's lawyer will be here at any moment.

He will bring with him the alleged marriage certificate. Until that has been seen, examined and verified as authentic, there is little to be said.”

The woman looked at me; her expression softened. "Don't think I don't know how you're feeling. This must be terrible news for you. I know about the house and what sort of place it is. My mother used to tell me about it. You see, my father couldn't stop talking of it, even though he thought it wouldn't be his then. He had run away from it to be a gypsy. His brother never liked him. They hadn't got on. Well, it made all the difference when it was his. He'd served his term and he was a free man. He could go back to England and claim his inheritance and he didn't want to take my mother and me with him ... so he just walked out.”

"There must be a mistake. My father would never have behaved like that.”

"Oh, he did all right. There was my mother ... left with a child to look after.

She went back to her father. It was a blessing she had him to go to. But her place was here, in Cador, that place she'd heard so much about. She used to say to me that she felt she'd been there. He'd talked so much about it, you see. She was fascinated by it. Every day she used to talk about it to me. You'd think she'd been there. According to her my father was a great talker. He used to tell her about the dungeons where the food was stored because it was cool down there; and the kitchens with their roasting spits and the buttery and the laundry rooms. She loved to tell me about the dining room with its tapestries of the Wars of the Roses and the Great Rebellion ... I wanted to know all about them after that.”

I listened aghast. She was giving an exact description of Cador.

"What fascinated me most," she went on, "was what they called the peeps. I can't wait to see them. In that room called the solarium. I want to look through those peeps down into the chapel and the hall. I want to go out onto the battlements and look at the sea. But I think what's going to be my favourite are the peeps.”

I thought: She knows the house. She knows it intimately. How could she unless... ?

She saw the effect her words were having on me and there was, I fancy, a malicious glint in her eyes.

She went on: "My mother tried to do some tatting. She said it was on the chairs in the dining room. 'Queen Anne's Tatting' she called it." She smiled. "My mother used to say that my father could make you see the things he was talking about.”

Mr. Tamblin was looking uneasy, and I could see that Rolf was taken aback, for he, too, knew she was giving an exact description of Cador which could only have come from one who knew the house well.

I was relieved when her lawyer arrived.

She introduced him as Mr. Trilling. She had brought him with her from Sydney. He had read of the case in the papers of course. At the time, the whole of Sydney had been talking about it: the man who had been sent out on a seven years' term, had served it and come back to his death. It was something to catch everyone's imagination Mr. Trilling said there was no doubt that Miss Maria Cadorson's story was true and the marriage certificate would prove that.

The dramatic moment came when he produced the certificate. Mr. Tamblin looked eagerly and he and Rolf studied it. I saw the blank dismay on their faces.

"It ... would appear to be authentic," said Mr. Tamblin.

Rolf looked at me with a deep compassion which confirmed my worst fears.

"Of course," said Mr. Tamblin, "there will have to be a further inspection.”

"May I see it?" I asked.

The document was put into my hands. I stared at the names: Jake Cadorson and Hilda Stillman.

Stillman ... The name had a familiar ring.

"That was your mother," I heard myself say. "Hilda Stillman.”

"That's right. My grandfather was torn Stillman. He had quite a fair property. Stillman's Creek was the place ... Named after him, you see. Because there was nothing there when he settled.”

"Whereabouts is that?" asked Mr. Tamblin.

"South of Brisbane ... Just about on the borders of New South Wales and Queensland.”

The room seemed to be spinning round me. I was carried back to that day when I had been in my father's room sorting out his clothes.

I saw the little notebook which I had given my father. I remembered the words so clearly. "Stillman's Creek on the borders of New South Wales and Queensland.”

He had the address. He had asked Gregory Donnelly where it was.

Hilda Stillman had gone back to her father when she was deserted. It was there that Maria had been brought up.