‘Did anyone tell them that Mrs Dudley clears at ten?’ Theodora looked into the coffee pot speculatively.

The doctor hesitated. ‘I hate to wake them after such a night.’

‘But Mrs Dudley clears at ten.’

‘They’re coming,’ Eleanor said. ‘I can hear them on the stairs.’ I can hear everything, all over the house, she wanted to tell them.

Then, distantly, they could all hear Mrs Montague’s voice, raised in irritation and Luke, realising, said, ‘Oh, Lord—they can’t find the dining-room,’ and hurried out to open doors.

‘—properly aired.’ Mrs Montague’s voice preceded her, and she swept into the dining-room, tapped the doctor curtly on the shoulder by way of greeting and seated herself with a general nod to the others. ‘I must say,’ she began at once, ’that I think you might have called us for breakfast. I suppose everything is cold? Is the coffee bearable?’

‘Good morning,’ Arthur said sulkily, and sat down himself with an air of sullen ill temper. Theodora almost upset the coffee pot in her haste to set a cup of coffee before Mrs Montague.

‘It seems hot enough,’ Mrs Montague said. ‘I shall speak to your Mrs Dudley this morning in any case. That room must be aired.’

‘And your night?’ the doctor asked timidly. ‘Did you spend a—ah—profitable night?’

‘If by profitable you meant comfortable, John, I wish you would say so. No, in answer to your most civil inquiry, I did not spend a comfortable night. I did not sleep a wink. That room is unendurable.’

‘Noisy old house, isn’t it?’ Arthur said. ‘Branch kept tapping against my window all night; nearly drove me crazy, tapping and tapping.’

‘Even with the windows open that room is stuffy. Mrs Dudley’s coffee is not as poor as her housekeeping. Another cup, if you please. I am astonished, John, that you put me in a room not properly aired; if there is to be any communication with those beyond, the air circulation, at least, ought to be adequate. I smelled dust all night.’

‘Can’t understand you,’ Arthur said to the doctor, ‘letting yourself get all nervy about this place. Sat there all night long with my revolver and not a mouse stirred. Except for that infernal branch tapping on the window. Nearly drove me crazy,’ he confided to Theodora.

‘We will not give up hope, of course.’ Mrs Montague scowled at her husband. ‘Perhaps tonight there may be some manifestations.’

‘Theo?’ Eleanor put down her notepad, and Theodora, scribbling busily, looked up with a frown. ‘I’ve been thinking about something.’

‘I hate writing these notes; I feel like a damn fool trying to write this crazy stuff.’

‘I’ve been wondering.’

‘Well?’ Theodora smiled a little. ‘You look so serious,’ she said. ‘Are you coming to some great decision?’

‘Yes,’ Eleanor said, deciding. ‘About what I’m going to do afterwards. After we all leave Hill House.’

‘Well?’

‘I’m coming with you,’ Eleanor said.

‘Coming where with me?’

‘Back with you, back home. I’—and Eleanor smiled wryly—‘am going to follow you home.’

Theodora stared. ‘Why?’ she asked blankly.

‘I never had anyone to care about,’ Eleanor said, wondering where she had heard someone say something like this before. ‘I want to be some place where I belong.’

‘I am not in the habit of taking home stray cats,’ Theodora said lightly.

Eleanor laughed too. ‘I am a kind of stray cat, aren’t I?’

‘Well.’ Theodora took up her pencil again. ‘You have your own home,’ she said. ‘You’ll be glad enough to get back to it when the time comes, Nell my Nellie. I suppose we’ll all be glad to get back home. What are you saying about those noises last night? I can’t describe them.’

‘I’ll come, you know,’ Eleanor said. ‘I’ll just come.’

‘Nellie, Nellie.’ Theodora laughed again. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘This is just a summer, just a few weeks’ visit to a lovely old summer resort in the country. You have your life back home, I have my life. When the summer is over, we go back. We’ll write each other, of course, and maybe visit, but Hill House is not for ever, you know.’

‘I can get a job; I won’t be in your way.’

‘I don’t understand.’ Theodora threw down her pencil in exasperation. ‘Do you always go where you’re not wanted?’

Eleanor smiled placidly. ‘I’ve never been wanted anywhere,’ she said.

‘It’s all so motherly,’ Luke said. ‘Everything so soft. Everything so padded. Great embracing chairs and sofas which turn out to be hard and unwelcoming when you sit down, and reject you at once——’

‘Theo?’ Eleanor said softly, and Theodora looked at her and shook her head in bewilderment.

‘—and hands everywhere. Little soft glass hands, curving out to you, beckoning——’

‘Theo?’ Eleanor said.

‘No,’ Theodora said. ‘I won’t have you. And I don’t want to talk about it any more.’

‘Perhaps,’ Luke said, watching them, ‘the single most repulsive aspect is the emphasis upon the globe. I ask you to regard impartially the lampshade made of tiny pieces of broken glass glued together, or the great round balls of the lights upon the stairs or the fluted iridescent candy jar at Theo’s elbow. In the dining-room there is a bowl of particularly filthy yellow glass resting upon the cupped hands of a child, and an Easter egg of sugar with a vision of shepherds dancing inside. A bosomy lady supports the stair-rail on her head, and under glass in the drawing-room——’

‘Nellie, leave me alone. Let’s walk down to the brook or something.’

‘—a child’s face, done in cross-stitch. Nell, don’t look so apprehensive; Theo has only suggested that you walk down to the brook. If you like, I will go along.’

‘Anything,’ Theodora said.

‘To frighten away rabbits. If you like, I will carry a stick. If you like, I will not come at all. Theo has only to say the word.’

Theodora laughed. ‘Perhaps Nell would rather stay here and write on walls.’

‘So unkind,’ Luke said. ‘Callous of you, Theo.’

‘I want to hear more about the shepherds dancing in the Easter egg,’ Theodora said.

‘A world contained in sugar. Six very tiny shepherds dancing, and a shepherdess in pink and blue reclining upon a mossy bank enjoying them; there are flowers and trees and sheep, and an old goatherd playing pipes. I would like to have been a goatherd, I think.’

‘If you were not a bullfighter,’ Theodora said.

‘If I were not a bullfighter. Nell’s affairs are the talk of the cafés, you will recall.’

‘Pan,’ Theodora said. ‘You should live in a hollow tree, Luke.’

‘Nell,’ Luke said, ‘you are not listening.’

‘I think you frighten her, Luke.’

‘Because Hill House will be mine some day, with its untold treasures and its cushions? I am not gentle with a house, Nell; I might take a fit of restlessness and smash the sugar Easter egg, or shatter the little child hands or go stomping and shouting up and down the stairs striking at glued-glass lamps with a cane and slashing at the bosomy lady with the staircase on her head; I might——’

‘You see? You do frighten her.’

‘I believe I do,’ Luke said. ‘Nell, I am only talking nonsense.’

‘I don’t think he even owns a cane,’ Theodora said.

‘As a matter of fact, I do. Nell, I am only talking nonsense. What is she thinking about, Theo?’

Theodora said carefully, ‘She wants me to take her home with me after we leave Hill House, and I won’t do it.’

Luke laughed. ‘Poor silly Nell,’ he said. ‘Journeys end in lovers meeting. Let’s go down to the brook.’

‘A mother house,’ Luke said, as they came down the steps from the verandah to the lawn, ‘a housemother, a headmistress, a housemistress. I am sure I will be a very poor housemaster, like our Arthur, when Hill House belongs to me.’

‘I can’t understand anyone wanting to own Hill House,’ Theodora said, and Luke turned and looked back with amusement at the house.

‘You never know what you are going to want until you see it clearly,’ he said. ‘If I never had a chance of owning it I might feel very differently. What do people really want with each other, as Nell asked me once; what use are other people?’

‘It was my fault my mother died,’ Eleanor said. ‘She knocked on the wall and called me and called me and I never woke up. I ought to have brought her the medicine; I always did before. But this time she called me and I never woke up.’

‘You should have forgotten all that by now,’ Theodora said.

‘I’ve wondered ever since if I did wake up. If I did wake up and hear her, and if I just went back to sleep. It would have been easy, and I’ve wondered about it.’

‘Turn here,’ Luke said. ‘If we’re going to the brook.’

‘You worry too much, Nell. You probably just like thinking it was your fault.’

‘It was going to happen sooner or later, in any case,’ Eleanor said. ‘But of course no matter when it happened, it was going to be my fault.’

‘If it hadn’t happened you would never have come to Hill House.’

‘We go single file along here,’ Luke said. ‘Nell, go first.’

Smiling, Eleanor went on ahead, kicking her feet comfortably along the path. Now I know where I am going, she thought; I told her about my mother so that’s all right; I will find a little house, or maybe an apartment like hers. I will see her every day, and we will go searching together for lovely things—gold-rimmed dishes, and a white cat, and a sugar Easter egg, and a cup of stars. I will not be frightened or alone any more; I will call myself just Eleanor. ‘Are you two talking about me?’ she asked over her shoulder.

After a minute Luke answered politely. ‘A struggle between good and evil for the soul of Nell. I suppose I will have to be God, however.’

‘But of course she cannot trust either of us,’ Theodora said, amused.

‘Not me, certainly,’ Luke said.

‘Besides, Nell,’ Theodora said, ‘we were not talking about you at all. As though I were the games mistress,’ she said, half angry, to Luke.

I have waited such a long time, Eleanor was thinking; I have finally earned my happiness. She came, leading them, to the top of the hill and looked down to the slim line of trees they must pass through to get to the brook. They are lovely against the sky, she thought, so straight and free; Luke was wrong about the softness everywhere, because the trees are hard like wooden trees. They are still talking about me, talking about how I came to Hill House and found Theodora and now I will not let her go. Behind her she could hear the murmur of their voices, edged sometimes with malice, sometimes rising in mockery, sometimes touched with a laughter almost of kinship, and she walked on dreamily, hearing them come behind. She could tell when they entered the tall grass a minute after she did, because the grass moved hissingly beneath their feet and a startled grasshopper leaped wildly away.

I could help her in her shop, Eleanor thought; she loves beautiful things and I would go with her to find them. We could go anywhere we pleased, to the edge of the world if we liked, and come back when we wanted to. He is telling her now what he knows about me: that I am not easily taken in, that I had an oleander wall around me, and she is laughing because I am not going to be lonely any more. They are very much alike and they are very kind; I would not really have expected as much from them as they are giving me; I was very right to come because journeys end in lovers meeting.

She came under the hard branches of the trees and the shadows were pleasantly cool after the hot sun on the path; now she had to walk more carefully because the path led downhill and there were sometimes rocks and roots across her way. Behind her their voices went on, quick and sharp, and then more slowly and laughing; I will not look back, she thought happily, because then they would know what I am thinking; we will talk about it together some day, Theo and I, when we have plenty of time. How strange I feel, she thought, coming out of the trees on to the last steep part of the path going down to the brook; I am caught in a kind of wonder, I am still with joy. I will not look around until I am next to the brook, where she almost fell the day we came; I will remind her about the golden fish in the brook and about our picnic.

She sat down on the narrow green bank and put her chin on her knees; I will not forget this one moment in my life, she promised herself, listening to their voices and their footsteps coming slowly down the hill. ‘Hurry up,’ she said, turning her head to look for Theodora. ‘I——’ and was silent. There was no one on the hill, nothing but the footsteps coming clearly along the path and the faint mocking laughter.

‘Who——?’ she whispered. ‘Who?’

She could see the grass go down under the weight of the footsteps. She saw another grasshopper leap wildly away, and a pebble jar and roll. She heard clearly the brush of footsteps on the path and then, standing back hard against the bank, heard the laughter very close; ‘Eleanor, Eleanor,’ and she heard it inside and outside her head; this was a call she had been listening for all her life. The footsteps stopped and she was caught in a movement of air so solid that she staggered and was held. ‘Eleanor, Eleanor,’ she heard through the rushing of air past her ears, ‘Eleanor, Eleanor,’ and she was held tight and safe. It is not cold at all, she thought, it is not cold at all. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the bank and thought, Don’t let me go, and then, Stay, stay, as the firmness which held her slipped away, leaving her and fading; ‘Eleanor, Eleanor,’ she heard once more and then she stood beside the brook, shivering as though the sun had gone, watching without surprise the vacant footsteps move across the water of the brook, sending small ripples going, and then over on to the grass on the other side, moving slowly and caressingly up and over the hill.

Come back, she almost said, standing shaking by the brook, and then she turned and ran madly up the hill, crying as she ran and calling, ‘Theo? Luke?’

She found them in the little group of trees, leaning against a tree trunk and talking softly and laughing; when she ran to them they turned, startled, and Theodora was almost angry. ‘What on earth do you want this time?’ she said.

‘I waited for you by the brook——’

‘We decided to stay here where it was cool,’ Theodora said. ‘We thought you heard us calling you. Didn’t we, Luke?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Luke, embarrassed. ‘We were sure you heard us calling.’

‘Anyway,’ Theodora said, ‘we were going to come along in a minute. Weren’t we, Luke?’

‘Yes,’ said Luke, grinning. ‘Oh, yes.’

‘Subterranean waters,’ the doctor said, waving his fork.

‘Nonsense. Does Mrs Dudley do all your cooking? The asparagus is more than passable. Arthur, let that young man help you to asparagus.’

‘My dear.’ The doctor looked fondly upon his wife. ‘It has become our custom to rest for an hour or so after lunch; if you——’

‘Certainly not. I have far too much to do while I am here. I must speak to your cook, I must see that my room is aired, I must ready planchette for another session this evening; Arthur must clean his revolver.’

‘Mark of a fighting man,’ Arthur conceded. ‘Firearms always in good order.’

‘You and these young people may rest, of course. Perhaps you do not feel the urgency which I do, the terrible compulsion to aid whatever poor souls wander restlessly here; perhaps you find me foolish in my sympathy for them, perhaps I am even ludicrous in your eyes because I can spare a tear for a lost abandoned soul, left without any helping hand; pure love——’

‘Croquet?’ Luke said hastily. ‘Croquet, perhaps?’ He looked eagerly from one to another. ‘Badminton?’ he suggested. ‘Croquet?’

‘Subterranean waters?’ Theodora added helpfully.

‘No fancy sauces for me,’ Arthur said firmly. ‘Tell my fellows it’s the mark of a cad.’ He looked thoughtfully at Luke. ‘Mark of a cad. Fancy sauces, women waiting on you. My fellows wait on themselves. Mark of a man,’ he said to Theodora.

‘And what else do you teach them?’ Theodora asked politely.

‘Teach? You mean—do they learn anything, my fellows? You mean—algebra, like? Latin? Certainly.’ Arthur sat back, pleased. ‘Leave all that kind of thing to the teachers,’ he explained.

‘And how many fellows are there in your school?’ Theodora leaned forward, courteous, interested, making conversation with a guest, and Arthur basked; at the head of the table Mrs Montague frowned and tapped her fingers impatiently.

‘How many? How many. Got a crack tennis team, you know.’ He beamed on Theodora. ‘Crack. Absolutely tophole. Not counting milksops?’

‘Not counting,’ said Theodora, ‘milksops.’

‘Oh. Tennis. Golf. Baseball. Track. Cricket.’ He smiled slyly. ‘Didn’t guess we played cricket, did you? Then there’s swimming, and volleyball. Some fellows go out for everything, though,’ he told her anxiously. ‘All-around types. Maybe seventy, altogether.’

‘Arthur?’ Mrs Montague could contain herself no longer. ‘No shop talk, now. You’re on vacation, remember.’

‘Yes, silly of me.’ Arthur smiled fondly. ‘Got to check the weapons,’ he explained.

‘It’s two o’clock,’ Mrs Dudley said in the doorway. ‘I clear off at two.’

Theodora laughed, and Eleanor, hidden deep in the shadows behind the summerhouse, put her hands over her mouth to keep from speaking to let them know she was there; I’ve got to find out, she was thinking, I’ve got to find out.

‘It’s called “The Grattan Murders,” ’ Luke was saying. ‘Lovely thing. I can even sing it if you prefer.’

‘Mark of a cad.’ Theodora laughed again. ‘Poor Luke; I would have said “scoundrel.” ’

‘If you would rather be spending this brief hour with Arthur . . .’

‘Of course I would rather be with Arthur. An educated man is always an enlivening companion.’

‘Cricket,’ Luke said. ‘Never would have thought we played cricket, would you?’

‘Sing, sing,’ Theodora said, laughing.

Luke sang, in a nasal monotone, emphasising each word distinctly:

‘The first was young Miss Grattan, She tried not to let him in; He stabbed her with a corn knife, That’s how his crimes begin.

‘The next was Grandma Grattan, So old and tired and grey; She fit off her attacker Until her strength give way.

‘The next was Grandpa Grattan, A-settin’ by the fire; He crept up close behind him And strangled him with a wire.

‘The last was Baby Grattan All in his trundle bed; He stove him in the short ribs Until that child was dead.

‘And spit tobacco juice All on his golden head.’

When he finished there was a moment’s silence, and then Theodora said weakly, ‘It’s lovely, Luke. Perfectly beautiful. I will never hear it again without thinking of you.’

‘I plan to sing it to Arthur,’ Luke said. When are they going to talk about me? Eleanor wondered in the shadows. After a minute Luke went on idly, ‘I wonder what the doctor’s book will be like, when he writes it? Do you suppose he’ll put us in?’

‘You will probably turn up as an earnest young psychic researcher. And I will be a lady of undeniable gifts but dubious reputation.’

‘I wonder if Mrs Montague will have a chapter to herself.’

‘And Arthur. And Mrs Dudley. I hope he doesn’t reduce us all to figures on a graph.’

‘I wonder, I wonder,’ said Luke. ‘It’s warm this afternoon,’ he said. ‘What could we do that is cool?’

‘We could ask Mrs Dudley to make lemonade.’

‘You know what I want to do?’ Luke said. ‘I want to explore. Let’s follow the brook up into the hills and see where it comes from; maybe there’s a pond somewhere and we can go swimming.’

‘Or a waterfall; it looks like a brook that runs naturally from a waterfall.’

‘Come on, then.’ Listening behind the summerhouse, Eleanor heard their laughter and the sound of their feet running down the path to the house.

‘Here’s an interesting thing, here,’ Arthur’s voice said in the manner of one endeavouring valiantly to entertain, ‘here in this book. Says how to make candles out of ordinary children’s crayons.’

‘Interesting.’ The doctor sounded weary. ‘If you will excuse me, Arthur, I have all these notes to write up.’

‘Sure, Doctor. All got our work to do. Not a sound.’ Eleanor, listening outside the parlour door, heard the small irritating noises of Arthur settling down to be quiet. ‘Not much to do around here, is there?’ Arthur said. ‘How d’you pass the time generally?’

‘Working,’ the doctor said shortly.

‘You writing down what happens in the house?’

‘Yes.’

‘You got me in there?’

‘No.’

‘Seems like you ought to put in our notes from planchette. What are you writing now?’

‘Arthur. Can you read, or something?’

‘Sure. Never meant to make a nuisance of myself.’ Eleanor heard Arthur take up a book, and put it down, and light a cigarette, and sigh, and stir, and finally say, ‘Listen, isn’t there anything to do around here? Where is everybody?’

The doctor spoke patiently, but without interest. ‘Theodora and Luke have gone to explore the brook, I think. And I suppose the others are around somewhere. As a matter of fact, I believe my wife was looking for Mrs Dudley.’

‘Oh.’ Arthur sighed again. ‘Might as well read, I guess,’ he said, and then, after a minute, ‘Say, Doctor. I don’t like to bother you, but listen to what it says here in this book. . . .’

‘No,’ Mrs Montague said, ‘I do not believe in throwing young people together promiscuously, Mrs Dudley. If my husband had consulted me before arranging this fantastic house party——’

‘Well, now.’ It was Mrs Dudley’s voice, and Eleanor, pressed against the dining-room door, stared and opened her mouth wide against the wooden panels of the door. ‘I always say, Mrs Montague, that you’re only young once. Those young people are enjoying themselves, and it’s only natural for the young.’

‘But living under one roof——’

‘It’s not as though they weren’t grown up enough to know right from wrong. That pretty Theodora lady is old enough to take care of herself, I’d think, no matter how gay Mr Luke.’

‘I need a dry dish-towel, Mrs Dudley, for the silverware. It’s a shame, I think, the way children grow up these days knowing everything. There should be more mysteries for them, more things that belong rightly to grown-ups, that they have to wait to find out.’

‘Then they find them out the hard way.’ Mrs Dudley’s voice was comfortable and easy. ‘Dudley brought in these tomatoes from the garden this morning,’ she said. ‘They did well this year.’

‘Shall I start on them?’

‘No, oh, no. You sit down over there and rest; you’ve done enough. I’ll put on the water and we’ll have a nice cup of tea.’

‘Journeys end in lovers meeting,’ Luke said, and smiled across the room at Eleanor. ‘Does that blue dress on Theo really belong to you? I’ve never seen it before.’

‘I am Eleanor,’ Theodora said wickedly, ‘because I have a beard.’

‘You were wise to bring clothes for two,’ Luke told Eleanor. ‘Theo would never have looked half so well in my old blazer.’

‘I am Eleanor,’ Theo said, ‘because I am wearing blue. I love my love with an E because she is ethereal. Her name is Eleanor, and she lives in expectation.’

She is being spiteful, Eleanor thought remotely; from a great distance, it seemed, she could watch these people and listen to them. Now she thought, Theo is being spiteful and Luke is trying to be nice; Luke is ashamed of himself for laughing at me and he is ashamed of Theo for being spiteful. ‘Luke,’ Theodora said, with a half-glance at Eleanor, ‘come and sing to me again.’

‘Later,’ Luke said uncomfortably. ‘The doctor has just set up the chessmen.’ He turned away in some haste.

Theodora, piqued, leaned her head against the back of her chair and closed her eyes, clearly determined not to speak. Eleanor sat, looking down at her hands, and listened to the sounds of the house. Somewhere upstairs a door swung quietly shut; a bird touched the tower briefly and flew off. In the kitchen the stove was settling and cooling, with little soft creakings. An animal—a rabbit?—moved through the bushes by the summerhouse. She could even hear, with her new awareness of the house, the dust drifting gently in the attics, the wood ageing. Only the library was closed to her; she could not hear the heavy breathing of Mrs Montague and Arthur over their planchette, nor their little excited questions; she could not hear the books rotting or rust seeping into the circular iron stairway to the tower. In the little parlour she could hear, without raising her eyes, Theodora’s small irritated tappings and the quiet sound of the chessmen being set down. She heard when the library door slammed open, and then the sharp angry sound of footsteps coming to the little parlour, and then all of them turned as Mrs Montague opened the door and marched in.

‘I must say,’ said Mrs Montague on a sharp, explosive breath, ‘I really must say that this is the most infuriating——’

‘My dear.’ The doctor rose, but Mrs Montague waved him aside angrily. ‘If you had the decency——’ she said.

Arthur, coming behind her sheepishly, moved past her and, almost slinking, settled in a chair by the fire. He shook his head warily when Theodora turned to him.

‘The common decency. After all, John, I did come all this way, and so did Arthur, just to help out, and I certainly must say that I never expected to meet with such cynicism and incredulity from you, of all people, and these——’ She gestured at Eleanor and Theodora and Luke. ‘All I ask, all I ask, is some small minimum of trust, just a little bit of sympathy for all I am trying to do, and instead you disbelieve, you scoff, you mock and jeer.’ Breathing heavily, red-faced, she shook her finger at the doctor. Planchette,’ she said bitterly, ‘will not speak to me tonight. Not one single word have I had from planchette, as a direct result of your sneering and your scepticism; planchette may very possibly not speak to me for a matter of weeks—it has happened before, I can tell you; it has happened before, when I subjected it to the taunts of unbelievers; I have known planchette to be silent for weeks, and the very least I could have expected, coming here as I did with none but the finest motives, was a little respect.’ She shook her finger at the doctor, wordless for the moment.

‘My dear,’ the doctor said, ‘I am certain that none of us would knowingly have interfered.’

‘Mocking and jeering, were you not? Sceptical, with planchette’s very words before your eyes? Those young people pert and insolent?’

‘Mrs Montague, really . . .’ said Luke, but Mrs Montague brushed past him and sat herself down, her lips tight and her eyes blazing. The doctor sighed, started to speak, and then stopped. Turning away from his wife, he gestured Luke back to the chess table. Apprehensively, Luke followed, and Arthur, wriggling in his chair, said in a low voice to Theodora, ‘Never seen her so upset, you know. Miserable experience, waiting for planchette. So easily offended, of course. Sensitive to atmosphere.’ Seeming to believe that he had satisfactorily explained the situation, he sat back and smiled timidly.

Eleanor was hardly listening, wondering dimly at the movement in the room. Someone was walking around, she thought without interest; Luke was walking back and forth in the room, talking softly to himself; surely an odd way to play chess? Humming? Singing? Once or twice she almost made out a broken word, and then Luke spoke quietly; he was at the chess table where he belonged, and Eleanor turned and looked at the empty centre of the room, where someone was walking and singing softly, and then she heard it clearly:

Go walking through the valley, Go walking through the valley, Go walking through the valley, As we have done before. . . .

Why, I know that, she thought, listening, smiling, to the faint melody; we used to play that game; I remember that.

‘It’s simply that it’s a most delicate and intricate piece of machinery,’ Mrs Montague was saying to Theodora; she was still angry, but visibly softening under Theodora’s sympathetic attention. ‘The slightest air of disbelief offends it, naturally. How would you feel if people refused to believe in you?’

Go in and out the windows, Go in and out the windows, Go in and out the windows, As we have done before. . . .

The voice was light, perhaps only a child’s voice, singing sweetly and thinly, on the barest breath, and Eleanor smiled and remembered, hearing the little song more clearly than Mrs Montague’s voice continuing about planchette.

Go forth and face your lover, Go forth and face your lover, Go forth and face your lover, As we have done before. . . .

She heard the little melody fade, and felt the slight movement of air as the footsteps came close to her, and something almost brushed her face; perhaps there was a tiny sigh against her cheek, and she turned in surprise. Luke and the doctor bent over the chessboard, Arthur leaned confidingly close to Theodora, and Mrs Montague talked.

None of them heard it, she thought with joy; nobody heard it but me.