Виктория Холт: The Judas kiss

"Are they here?" asked the old lady.

"Yes, Mamma," replied Aunt Grace. "Francine is the elder. She is sixteen years old and Philippa is five years younger."

"Bring them to me."

First Francine was pushed forward. My grandmother lifted her hands and touched my sister's face. "Bless you," she said. "I am glad you have come."

"And this is Philippa." I was brought forward and the fingers gently touched my face.

Francine and I were silent. So she was blind.

"Come, my dears," she said, "sit one on either side of me. Have you stools for them, Agnes?"

Mrs. Warden brought two stools and we sat down. Our grandmother's fingers lingered on our hair. She was smiling. "So you are Edward's girls. Tell me about him. It was a sad day when he left us, but I understand. I hope he always knew I understood."

Francine had recovered from her surprise and began to talk about our father and how happy we had been on the island. I joined in now and then. That hour we spent with our grandmother was such a change from everything else we had found in this house.

Aunt Grace had left us to talk with her. She said she had many things to see to—the dressmaker and finding a governess, for instance. Her departure reminded us of the stern world outside this room. "Like an oasis in a desert," Francine was later to describe it.

Our grandmother was clearly delighted to have us with her, telling her everything she asked. She wanted to hear about our father most of all. The time flew past and once we had recovered from the initial shock her blindness had given us we were completely at home in that room.

"May we come to see you often?" I asked.

"As often as is possible," replied our grandmother. "I hope you will want to come."

Francine said, "Oh, we will. You are the first one who has made us feel that we are wanted here."

"Oh, you are wanted here. Your grandfather would not for one moment have considered refusing you a home." "He would consider it right and our grandfather is always right," said Francine with a hint of mockery. "But we don't want to be taken in because it is right, but because we are wanted and this is our home."

"You are wanted, child, and this is your home. I want you and my home is yours."

Francine took the thin white hand and kissed it.

"You've made it all so different," she said.

Mrs. Warden then said that Lady Ewell was a little tired. "She tires easily," she whispered, "and this has been an excitement to her. You must come again and see her often."

"Oh, we will, we will," cried Francine.

We kissed the soft cheek and were ushered out of the room by Agnes Warden.

We were standing in the corridor uncertain which way to turn, and Francine looked at me with sparkling eyes. "Now is our chance to explore the house," she said. "We have lost our way and have to find it, don't we?"

We held hands and ran along the corridor.

"We are very high up," said Francine, "right at the top of the house."

At the end of the corridor there was a window. We went to it and looked out.

"It's beautiful," commented Francine. "Different from the island and the sea ... beautiful in a different way. All those trees and the forest over there and the greenness of everything. If our grandfather were like our grandmother I could begin to like it here."

I stood close to my sister, feeling the comfort of her presence. Nothing could be really bad while we could share it.

"Oh look," she cried. "There's a house over there. It looks interesting."

"It's old, I think."

"Tudor, I'd say," said Francine knowledgeably. "All that red brick ... and it looks like leaded windows. I like it. We'll have to go and have a look at that."

"I wonder what this governess will be like?"

"They have to find her first. Come on, let's go and explore."

We descended a small spiral staircase and came to a landing. We walked through a door and were in a long room with a spinning wheel at one end.

"This is a voyage of exploration," said Francine. "We are now going to discover all the nooks and crannies, the dark secrets of our ancestral home."

"How do you know there are dark secrets?"

"There are always dark secrets. Besides, you can feel them here. Now this would be called the solarium, I believe, because it gets the sun for most of the day—hence the windows on either side. It's beautiful. There should be parties and balls and lots of people here. If ever I inherit, that is how it shall be."

"You inherit? Francine, how could you?"

"I'm in the line of succession surely. Father was the only son. Aunt Grace is not likely to prove fruitful. Perhaps she is the crown princess—the heir apparent. I could be the heir presumptive. It depends how they work these things out."

I was laughing aloud and so was she. She could be relied on to bring laughter to most situations.

We went through the solarium and along another corridor, up a staircase similar to that by which we had descended, and found a passage full of bedrooms with the inevitable four-posters and the heavy drapes and dark furniture.

We descended once more and came to a gallery.

"Family portraits," mused Francine, "and look. I am sure that is one of King Charles the First. Charles the Martyr; and those gentlemen who all look rather like him. I bet we were loyal to the monarchy. I wonder if our father is here. Perhaps we shall be—you and I, Pippa."

We heard footsteps and an agitated Aunt Grace burst in on us.

"Oh, there you are. I've been up to your grandmother's room to warn you. I couldn't find you. You'll be late for the service."

"The service?" asked Francine.

"We have three minutes in which to get there. Your grandfather will be most displeased ..."

Poor Grace. She would probably be blamed. Francine and I ran with her.

The chapel was reached by a flight of steps from the main hall. It was small, as chapels go, made to accommodate the family and servants, who were all assembled there when, breathless, we arrived.

I saw the curious eyes of the servants on us and was amazed by their number. Seated right at the back was the maid Daisy, who had brought our hot water. Our eyes met and she gave me one of her winks. The rest of them looked very demure, eyes lowered as we were hustled to our seats in the front row.

Our grandfather, already seated, looked neither to the right nor to the left. Aunt Grace sidled in beside him, then Francine and next to her myself.

The service was conducted by a young man who must have been in his middle twenties. He was tall and very thin with restless dark eyes, and hair that looked almost black beside the pallor of his skin.

We sang hymns of praise, and there was a good deal of praying when we stayed on our knees for what seemed an interminable length of time. Then the young man gave an address, during which he reminded everyone of the care of the Almighty who had brought them to Greystone Manor where they found food and shelter and all that was necessary not only for their physical, but for their spiritual comfort.

Our grandfather sat through this with his arms folded and now and then would nod in agreement. Then there was a song of praise, more prayers and the service was over. It had lasted only half an hour but it had seemed endless. The servants all filed out, and we were left with our grandfather, Aunt Grace and the young man—some sort of parson, I imagined.

Our grandfather was not exactly smiling, but he was looking with approval at the young man.

"Arthur," he said, "I wish you to meet your cousins."

"Cousins!" I sensed Francine's surprise. It could not have been greater than mine.

"The Reverend Arthur Ewell," said our grandfather. "Your cousin is in holy orders. You did not meet him last night as he was administering spiritual comfort to a sick neighbour. I am glad you arrived back in time for the service, Arthur."