The Shivering Sands by Victoria Holt

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.”
    “Even if you have no talent?” asked Alice almost eagerly.
    “If you have no talent to begin with, you can work hard and acquire skill at least. But I do believe that the gift of music is something you are born with. I propose that we start our lessons tomorrow. I shall take you all in turn and we will see who has this talent.”
    “Why did you come here?” pursued Allegra. “What were you doing before?”
    “Teaching.”
    “What of your old pupils? Won’t they be missing you?”
    “There were not many of them.”
    “Well, there are only three of us. This is not a very lucky place for people.”
    “What do you mean?”
    Allegra looked conspiratorially at the others. “There were some people who came to dig up our park. They