The adulteress

"And it was in my chest! Impossible! How could it have got there? It belongs to Lord Eversleigh. ... At least it did when I last saw it ... if it's the one. We both wanted it. He could bid higher than I ... and it was his. But how ... ? I don't understand."

Evalina sat on a stool and laid her head against her husband's knee.

"I'd better confess," she said. "Although I swore to my mother I wouldn't tell. It's hers. I'm keeping it for her."

"Here?" said Andrew. "But this was one of the pieces Lord Eversleigh most prized."

"I know," said Evalina. "That was why he gave it to her. He wanted to give her something good ... something valuable. I suppose he was thinking it was something she might sell after he died if she fell on hard times. I was holding it for her. She thought that if it was left at the Court and Lord Eversleigh died she wouldn't be allowed to have it. I'm sorry. Have I done wrong?"

Andrew touched her hair caressingly. "Of course not, and I suppose there is something in that. She would have to prove that he'd given it to her."

"How could she do that? She can't very well say 'I want it written down that you've given me this' ... or that... . He's given her one or two things ... and she's asked me to mind them for her. I thought I'd wrap them up and keep them for her. There's no harm in that, is there?"

"Of course there's no harm. But this is a very valuable piece. I don't suppose your mother realizes the value."

"Oh, she said Lordy wouldn't give her any old rubbish. Some of the things he gives her she leaves there and hopes for the best. It was just the things she thought were special."

Andrew was turning the statue over and over in his hands.

"Exquisite," he said. "Well, I suppose I should be honored to have it in my house for a little while."

Evalina took it firmly from him.

"I think I'd better wrap it up and put it away," she said. "I promised my mother I would take care of it."

I sensed tension in the atmosphere. Evalina threw a glance at Dickon in which there was a certain dislike. She had not cared that he should find the hiding place of the bronze statue and then show it to her husband. Dickon's expression was inscrutable.

I said I really must go and I thanked them for their hospitality.

Dickon said he would stay awhile. He wanted to talk about the chest and have a closer look at the bronze statue.

I left the house and rode slowly back to Eversleigh.

At supper that evening Dickon was rather more quiet than usual. At dusk I was taken once more to Uncle Carl's room. It was the same ritual; the brief visit, the hovering Jessie and the doctor, the brief pressure of the hand, the murmuring of my name, and then all too soon the request to leave the room.

I wondered if I was ever going to speak to my uncle.

I retired early but not to sleep. I sat in the window for a long time looking out and thinking about the events of the day— the marriage of Evalina to Andrew Mather and Dickon's discovery of the valuable statue which had belonged to my uncle and which Evalina had said he had given to her mother.

Had he? I wondered. How easy it would be for Jessie to help herself to valuable objects and hide them away somewhere!

Of course it was perfectly plausible that he had given them to her, and she might have been denied them if Uncle Carl died. What would happen then? I suppose Rosen, Stead and Rosen had some instructions. Would they come in and assess his possessions? Would they know it" anything was missing? How could they? He was perfectly entitled to give his valuables away if he so wished. But it would be difficult for someone like a housekeeper to say some valuable object had been given to her if it were still in the house. He might very well have given her the statue—and other things besides—and she felt she had to get them out of the house while she had a chance.

It was an unusual situation and very difficult to assess. Something should be done, I was sure, but I did not know what. Perhaps I should go and see Rosen, Stead and Rosen. I wished there was someone whose advice I could ask.

I could only think of the Forsters. But I hardly knew them well enough and could scarcely put such a private matter before them when I had only met them twice.

My mother always said: "When in difficulties always wait. Sleep on a big decision. It's often wisest." My father would have been different. He would have been more impulsive.

My sleep was once more fitful. I could never settle to regular sleep in this house. I suppose it was because my mind was so uneasy.

I was awakened from a light doze because I thought I had heard a noise below. I sat up in bed. It was two o'clock. I was sure someone was out on the lawn.

I got out of bed and went to the window and was just in time to see a figure go into the house.