understand. And so I must explain to him, Tetty, and show him the house.’
‘There is no house now,’ she would reply; and with her company of little prancing white dogs, walk stiffly away.
Just here, on this very spot.
And now, also, she was anxious. The children were hitching their ponies to low branches, in earnest conformation with the teachings of beloved Hil, and setting the little dogs to hopping back and forth over the log, ‘Look Tetty, look Papa—a circus, a circus!’ She said: ‘Sir Edward, while I have the opportunity, there’s something that for a long time I’ve wanted to ask you. Hil—he is so very fond of the children, he plays with them, pets them, calls them by pretty names. May I ask you—you know how clinging and demonstrative they are—is it your wish that they should continue with him in this degree of—familiarity?’
‘With Hil?’ he said, almost as though taken aback; suddenly frowning.
‘I suggest nothing wrong, sir, God forbid, I myself have never seen any—well, harm in it. But they are babies no longer and one day will be children no longer—’
He broke out sharply: ‘Don’t speak to me of that!’—and immediately retracted in his courteous way. ‘I beg your pardon. I don’t mean to be abrupt. I—well, it’s just that for a father it’s difficult to envisage his little ones—changing. But Hil—’
‘I make no criticism, Sir Edward. But I’m sure you will think it proper of me to have consulted you? I think,’ she suggested hesitantly, ‘that, for example, with any other male member of-the staff—’
‘Hil is not a member of the staff; or at any rate,’ he said again, ‘not in the sense of being a servant. He is different from the rest.’
‘He is, sir, yes; I respect him very much, he seems to me to be a wonderful person.’ (Yes, indeed!—with that heavily curling red-gold hair and the deep blue eyes. His mouth took a little quirk to it, when he was—as he so often was by the children—delighted and amused.) She checked herself hastily, the fair cheek, unscarred, took on a faint uprise of colour.
He glanced at her curiously. ‘And so—?’
She had never asked—or daring to hint a question, never received any answer—what Hil had meant by that strange declaration as to the children, ‘I’m so desperately afraid for them.’ And yet surely it was important for her to know? She ventured: ‘And so, all I say is—it is with your consent that I continue to allow total freedom between himself and the little girls? For my part, I’m very glad that it should be so. I know that he is devoted to them—deeply devoted.’ She was scared to speak out, and yet…‘Sir Edward, will you forgive me if I ask you, only for the children’s sake—why should Hil feel so—anxious about them? Afraid for them?’
For a moment she thought that he would faint; his pale face took on a look of ashy grey, he put out a hand to an overhanging bough to steady himself. It seemed a huge effort for him to speak. He said at last: ‘Afraid for them?’
‘He has said as much, sir. I thought that it would be right for me to understand.’
‘Only a Hilbourne can understand,’ he said. He seemed to speak only to himself. ‘We are people apart. We are cursed.’ And he looked down at the heavy, dark line of the ancient manor house in the shadow of the hill. ‘We must leave this place,’ he said. ‘Three hundred years of it—but what does it all matter?—I must leave it, take them away. Three hundred years, yes—but every hour of it cursed: for two hundred and fifty of those years one generation after another fallen to disaster. Have we all been mad that we’ve lived with it, down through the ages, never moved away?’ He seemed to become aware of her, almost blindly reached out and caught at her gloved hand. ‘You must stay with us! Stay with them, stay with me, we need you, for God’s sake don’t leave me alone again with this terrible fear. But we’ll go
‘There is no house now,’ she would reply; and with her company of little prancing white dogs, walk stiffly away.
Just here, on this very spot.
And now, also, she was anxious. The children were hitching their ponies to low branches, in earnest conformation with the teachings of beloved Hil, and setting the little dogs to hopping back and forth over the log, ‘Look Tetty, look Papa—a circus, a circus!’ She said: ‘Sir Edward, while I have the opportunity, there’s something that for a long time I’ve wanted to ask you. Hil—he is so very fond of the children, he plays with them, pets them, calls them by pretty names. May I ask you—you know how clinging and demonstrative they are—is it your wish that they should continue with him in this degree of—familiarity?’
‘With Hil?’ he said, almost as though taken aback; suddenly frowning.
‘I suggest nothing wrong, sir, God forbid, I myself have never seen any—well, harm in it. But they are babies no longer and one day will be children no longer—’
He broke out sharply: ‘Don’t speak to me of that!’—and immediately retracted in his courteous way. ‘I beg your pardon. I don’t mean to be abrupt. I—well, it’s just that for a father it’s difficult to envisage his little ones—changing. But Hil—’
‘I make no criticism, Sir Edward. But I’m sure you will think it proper of me to have consulted you? I think,’ she suggested hesitantly, ‘that, for example, with any other male member of-the staff—’
‘Hil is not a member of the staff; or at any rate,’ he said again, ‘not in the sense of being a servant. He is different from the rest.’
‘He is, sir, yes; I respect him very much, he seems to me to be a wonderful person.’ (Yes, indeed!—with that heavily curling red-gold hair and the deep blue eyes. His mouth took a little quirk to it, when he was—as he so often was by the children—delighted and amused.) She checked herself hastily, the fair cheek, unscarred, took on a faint uprise of colour.
He glanced at her curiously. ‘And so—?’
She had never asked—or daring to hint a question, never received any answer—what Hil had meant by that strange declaration as to the children, ‘I’m so desperately afraid for them.’ And yet surely it was important for her to know? She ventured: ‘And so, all I say is—it is with your consent that I continue to allow total freedom between himself and the little girls? For my part, I’m very glad that it should be so. I know that he is devoted to them—deeply devoted.’ She was scared to speak out, and yet…‘Sir Edward, will you forgive me if I ask you, only for the children’s sake—why should Hil feel so—anxious about them? Afraid for them?’
For a moment she thought that he would faint; his pale face took on a look of ashy grey, he put out a hand to an overhanging bough to steady himself. It seemed a huge effort for him to speak. He said at last: ‘Afraid for them?’
‘He has said as much, sir. I thought that it would be right for me to understand.’
‘Only a Hilbourne can understand,’ he said. He seemed to speak only to himself. ‘We are people apart. We are cursed.’ And he looked down at the heavy, dark line of the ancient manor house in the shadow of the hill. ‘We must leave this place,’ he said. ‘Three hundred years of it—but what does it all matter?—I must leave it, take them away. Three hundred years, yes—but every hour of it cursed: for two hundred and fifty of those years one generation after another fallen to disaster. Have we all been mad that we’ve lived with it, down through the ages, never moved away?’ He seemed to become aware of her, almost blindly reached out and caught at her gloved hand. ‘You must stay with us! Stay with them, stay with me, we need you, for God’s sake don’t leave me alone again with this terrible fear. But we’ll go
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