secret conversations and secret correspondence and secret possessions hidden away in secret drawers? And if Madam felt no qualms of conscience as to discovering them, certainly Olwen need not.
And, sure enough, Miss Tetterman was posting a letter—hurriedly scribbled, upon unexpected notice being given of her afternoon’s freedom. To: Sir Charles Arden, and at an accommodation address. ‘I think you had best not write to me here again. I believe I am increasingly spied upon. And pray send no more gifts. Cherish them as I may, and all that they speak to me, it grows increasingly difficult to parry questions. I am safe and well and sufficiently happy and you will not need me to tell you that I constantly think of you and with how much longing. But it is all too dangerous, the woman I told you of is jealous and spiteful. Supposing she were to write to her ladyship, I think she is by no means beyond it. If you positively must, then address me in the care of the post office of this village, always remembering that I may be able to call here not more often than once in two or three weeks. In haste, A.’
Owain, whatever might be Tante Louise’s suspicions, seemed very happy to be sent off to amuse himself elsewhere and, the rain holding off after all, Tetty went for a long, thoughtful walk along the riverside; nor was he apparently so eager for her company as to return with any great despatch at the hour appointed. Standing waiting for him in the shelter of the lych gate, she saw that Hil was riding down the road towards her. He came up to the gate and dismounted. ‘I heard that you were in the village, and came to meet you.’
She had hardly seen him since the Christmas party, and never alone. Now her heart left its present cares and lifted a little. ‘To meet me ?’ But she caught at a sudden fear. ‘There’s nothing wrong—?’
‘No, no, your treasures are all right. What is the nurse-maid for? I just thought… It is a little lonely for you, taking your few leisure hours all by yourself, and with so little to amuse you in this place.’
‘Oh, yes…’ she said, confused. ‘It’s very kind of you. But I do very well. I’ve been for a walk along the riverbank.’
‘You can walk along the river at any time. But then of course you are in a scramble of children and dogs and sometimes an intruder like myself.’ He gave her the same sort of little deferential bow that he gave to the Squire. ‘But perhaps I’m an intruder now?’
‘Oh, Hil!’ she said. ‘Of course not!’
‘I thought Owain might ride my horse home and I could later drive you back in the dog-cart.’ He looked around at the small huddle of buildings with its one little shop-cum-post-office. ‘There is not much to do, but the church is very old and interesting. Would you care for a tour of it?’
Doubts and questions scurried like mice about her mind. It was all a little strange—this sudden access of forethought, of consideration, of an attempt at a special friendship; and underlying it somehow, faintly, an air of purpose. Observing her hesitation he said with an ironic lift of the eyebrows: ‘Or perhaps you think Squire Hilbourne’s farm factotem not a suitable escort for so polished a young lady as yourself?’
‘Oh, Hill !’ He was so—beautiful: there was never any other word for it—standing there, slender and arrow-straight with his deep blue eyes and his curl of auburn hair. Tears filled her eyes. ‘You say that to be unkind. When have I ever…? We both know very well that you are no factotum.’
‘Will you do me the honour then to walk through the church with me?’ As she hesitated, he added coolly: ‘Or will you not? If not, here comes Owain with the trap and you are most welcome, I assure you, to go home with him.’
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Since you round off your invitation so graciously, I’ll take you at your word and go home.’
But he caught at her wrist and held it almost—fiercely. ‘No,
And, sure enough, Miss Tetterman was posting a letter—hurriedly scribbled, upon unexpected notice being given of her afternoon’s freedom. To: Sir Charles Arden, and at an accommodation address. ‘I think you had best not write to me here again. I believe I am increasingly spied upon. And pray send no more gifts. Cherish them as I may, and all that they speak to me, it grows increasingly difficult to parry questions. I am safe and well and sufficiently happy and you will not need me to tell you that I constantly think of you and with how much longing. But it is all too dangerous, the woman I told you of is jealous and spiteful. Supposing she were to write to her ladyship, I think she is by no means beyond it. If you positively must, then address me in the care of the post office of this village, always remembering that I may be able to call here not more often than once in two or three weeks. In haste, A.’
Owain, whatever might be Tante Louise’s suspicions, seemed very happy to be sent off to amuse himself elsewhere and, the rain holding off after all, Tetty went for a long, thoughtful walk along the riverside; nor was he apparently so eager for her company as to return with any great despatch at the hour appointed. Standing waiting for him in the shelter of the lych gate, she saw that Hil was riding down the road towards her. He came up to the gate and dismounted. ‘I heard that you were in the village, and came to meet you.’
She had hardly seen him since the Christmas party, and never alone. Now her heart left its present cares and lifted a little. ‘To meet me ?’ But she caught at a sudden fear. ‘There’s nothing wrong—?’
‘No, no, your treasures are all right. What is the nurse-maid for? I just thought… It is a little lonely for you, taking your few leisure hours all by yourself, and with so little to amuse you in this place.’
‘Oh, yes…’ she said, confused. ‘It’s very kind of you. But I do very well. I’ve been for a walk along the riverbank.’
‘You can walk along the river at any time. But then of course you are in a scramble of children and dogs and sometimes an intruder like myself.’ He gave her the same sort of little deferential bow that he gave to the Squire. ‘But perhaps I’m an intruder now?’
‘Oh, Hil!’ she said. ‘Of course not!’
‘I thought Owain might ride my horse home and I could later drive you back in the dog-cart.’ He looked around at the small huddle of buildings with its one little shop-cum-post-office. ‘There is not much to do, but the church is very old and interesting. Would you care for a tour of it?’
Doubts and questions scurried like mice about her mind. It was all a little strange—this sudden access of forethought, of consideration, of an attempt at a special friendship; and underlying it somehow, faintly, an air of purpose. Observing her hesitation he said with an ironic lift of the eyebrows: ‘Or perhaps you think Squire Hilbourne’s farm factotem not a suitable escort for so polished a young lady as yourself?’
‘Oh, Hill !’ He was so—beautiful: there was never any other word for it—standing there, slender and arrow-straight with his deep blue eyes and his curl of auburn hair. Tears filled her eyes. ‘You say that to be unkind. When have I ever…? We both know very well that you are no factotum.’
‘Will you do me the honour then to walk through the church with me?’ As she hesitated, he added coolly: ‘Or will you not? If not, here comes Owain with the trap and you are most welcome, I assure you, to go home with him.’
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Since you round off your invitation so graciously, I’ll take you at your word and go home.’
But he caught at her wrist and held it almost—fiercely. ‘No,
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