Виктория Холт: The Judas kiss

We followed her up another staircase and she walked ahead, not speaking. Francine grimaced at me. It was rather a nervous grimace. I guessed that Francine was realizing she would not find it easy to charm such a household.

Aunt Grace opened a door and stepped into a room, standing aside so that we could enter. We did so. It was quite a pleasant room, but the dark curtains which half obscured the windows made it gloomy.

"You are to be together," said Aunt Grace. "Your grandfather thought there was no point in using two rooms."

I felt a sudden surge of pleasure. I should not have relished sleeping alone in that eerie mansion. I remembered Francine's once saying that nothing is all bad—or all good, for that matter; there had to be a little bit of the other, however slight. It was a comforting thought just now.

There were two beds in the room.

"You may choose how you will use them," said Aunt Grace as though, Francine afterwards remarked, she were offering us the kingdoms of the world.

She said, "Thank you, Aunt Grace."

"Now you will want to wash and perhaps change after the journey. We dine in an hour's time. Your grandfather will not tolerate unpunctuality."

"I am sure he will not," said Francine, and there was a note of hysteria in her voice. "It's so dark in here," she went on. "I can't see anything." She went to the windows and pulled back the curtains. "There! That's better. Oh, what a lovely view."

I went to the window and Aunt Grace came and stood immediately behind us.

"That is Rantown Forest down there," she said.

"It looks interesting. Forests always do. How far are we from the sea, Aunt Grace?"

"About ten miles."

Francine had turned to her. "I love the sea. We lived surrounded by it, you see. It makes you love it."

"Yes," said Aunt Grace, "I suppose it must. Now I will have hot water sent up to you."

"Aunt Grace," went on Francine, "you are our father's sister, yet you don't mention him. Don't you want to hear about your brother?"

I saw her face clearly in the light Francine had let in. It twitched and she looked as though she were going to cry. "Your grandfather has forbidden us to mention him," she said.

"Your own brother ..."

"He behaved—unforgivably. Your grandfather ..."

"He makes the laws here, I see," said Francine.

"I—I don't understand you." Aunt Grace was trying to look severe. "You are young," she went on, "and you have much to learn, and I will give you a piece of advice. Never, never again speak to your grandfather as you did today. You must never say he is wrong. He is—"

"Always right," added Francine. "Omnipotent, omniscient —like God, of course."

Aunt Grace suddenly put out a hand and touched Francine's arm. "You will have to be careful," she said almost pleadingly.

"Aunt Grace," I put in—for I thought I had glimpsed something which in her indignation Francine might have missed—and it was in that moment that my aunt became poor Aunt Grace for me, "are you glad that we have come?"

Her face twitched again, and there was a clouded look in her eyes. She nodded, and said, "I will send the hot water."

Then she was gone.

Francine and I stood looking at each other.

"I hate him," she said. "And our aunt ... what is she? A puppet."

Oddly enough, I was the one who could comfort Francine. Perhaps because she was older than I she could see more clearly what our lives would be like here. Perhaps I was clutching at straws for comfort.

"At least we are together," I reminded her.

She nodded and looked round the room.

"It's better now you've let in the light," I added.

"We'll make a vow. We'll never draw those hideous curtains again. I expect he ordered them to be put there to shut out the sun. He would hate the sun, wouldn't he? But, Pippa, they are all so dead. That woman who let us in ... the coachman ... It's like dying. Perhaps we are dead. Perhaps we had an accident on that train and this is Hades. We are waiting while it is decided whether we shall go to heaven or hell."

I laughed. It was good to laugh and soon she was laughing with me.

"Puppets," I said. "They are like puppets, but puppets can be jerked, you know."

"But look who is the puppet master!"

"We're not his puppets, Francine."

"Never!" she cried. "Never!"

"I think Aunt Grace is rather nice really. Poor Aunt Grace."

"Aunt Grace! She is nothing. 'Never again speak to your grandfather as you did today ...'" she mimicked. "I will if I want to!"

"He might turn us away. Where should we go if he did?"

It was a sobering thought and she was at a loss for words.

I put my hand in hers and said, "We have to wait, Francine. We have to wait... and plan."

Plans always excited Francine.

She said slowly, "You're right, Pippa. Yes, you are right. We have to bide our time ... and plan."

We lay in our beds without speaking for a long time. I was reliving that strange evening and I knew that Francine was doing the same.

We had washed and changed into the dresses of coloured cotton which we had always worn on the island. That they would seem incongruous here did not strike us until we joined our grandfather and aunt. Poor Aunt Grace's look of horror warned me. I saw our grandfather's cold eyes on us and I prayed that he would not provoke Francine beyond endurance. I had a vision of our being turned out, and although I was by no means enamoured of Greystone Manor and my relations, I realized that there could be worse fates than that which awaited us here.

We were taken into the dining room, which was large and should have been bright and colourful. But all that was needed to make a room mournful was our grandfather's presence. One single candle lighted the long and intricately carved table, and I found myself wondering what my father had felt when he had sat at that table. Because of its size we seemed a long way from each other. Grandfather was at one end, Aunt Grace at the other and Francine and I opposite each other.

We made a mistake in the first moment by sitting down when it was the custom at Greystone Manor to stand and say grace.

"Are you not prepared to thank your Maker for your food?" demanded our grandfather in a voice of thunder.

Francine pointed out that we had not had it yet.

"Savages," muttered my grandfather. "On your feet at once."

Francine looked at me and I thought she was going to refuse, but she didn't. Grace went on interminably. Our grandfather apologized to God for our ingratitude and promised this should not happen again. He gave thanks on our behalf and his voice went droning on until I felt frantic with hunger, for we had not eaten for some time.

At last it was over and we sat down. Our grandfather talked all the time about church affairs, about people on the estate and the difference our coming to the household would make, so that we felt we were going to be an encumbrance. Aunt Grace murmured yes or no at the appropriate moments and all through the monologue wore an expression of rapt attention.

"It would seem that you are without education. A governess should be found without delay. Grace, that will be your province."

"Yes, Father."

"I cannot have it said that my granddaughters are ignorant."

"We had a tutor on the island," said Francine. "He was very good. We have fluent Italian, both of us. Some French and quite good German—"

"We speak English here," interrupted my grandfather. "You clearly need to be educated in deportment and general behaviour."

"Our parents brought us up."

Aunt Grace looked so frightened that I threw a beseeching look at Francine, who interpreted it and hesitated.

"Grace," went on our grandfather, "you must take charge of your nieces until the governess arrives. Make them understand that in polite society such as ours, children speak only when they are spoken to. They are seen but not heard."