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75'Oh, yes, yes. But to my mind it wants a lot doing to it. It's been neglected and will C0st a fortune to put it into good order.''You can turn the hall and drawing-room into one huge room. Lionel showed me.

You wouldn't believe it, that panelling folds back, just like a concertina.''Does it now? When did this display happen?''Well, I told you, when I visited last week, when he came and picked me up. And you being your stubborn and charming self stated flatly that you had no time to waste.''I said that to you, not to him.''I know . , . you wouldn't say it to him. Yet'-she pulled a long face-'you would, if the mood was on you, wouldn't you, dear?''Yes, dear, yes'-Bridget's head bobbed'I would say it if the mood was on me. Pour me out another glass of that beer; and then I don't know what you're going to do till sup>er time but I have work to do. I'm going town to the office.''Oh! that office. I'd like to set fire to it at times.

Why do you want to go there now, I laven't seen you all day.'

76I've got a special letter to write; Joe's going to be married and he wants a house.''My! My! Joe Skinner again, your pet protege. What are you going to give him as a wedding present, the factory?''Could do. Could do. I'll have to think about it.'As Bridget made for the door Victoria ran to her and, catching her arm, said, 'You will accept the invitation, I mean, to the ball? I can't go on my own.

You know I can't.'Bridget looked into the soft gaze of this girl who was very dear to her, and she sighed now as she said, 'All right, all right.''And you'll get a new gown?''No, I won't get any new gown.' She pulled open the door, with Victoria still hanging on to her arm, tugging at her and saying, 'You will get a new gown. If you won't go into town I'll order half a dozen or so to be sent up for you to choose from.''You dare!''I dare, because on the last . . . well-' She shook her head and the small ringlets hanging down in front of her ears bobbed on her cheeks as she now cried, 'I'm ashamed for you. Four occasions during the last year

77you've worn that same old grey thing. I'lltear it up. I will. It makes you look like a - • •Bridget was smiling now, and she, too, bobbed her head as she said, 'Yes, I know, a line of pipe water.''Well, it's a good description, in that grey thing anyway.'Bridget was now walking out of the corridor on to the balcony, saying, 'It's good material; it's Italian brocade.''I don't care if it's Chinese tapestry from the Ming, Bing, or Bang period.'Once again they fell about together, making it necessary for Bridget to grab the balustrade of the stairs, and with tears of laughter in her eyes and in a throaty voice, she exclaimed, 'If Miss Rice were here she would say, "Vases, Ming period, Victoria. Vases not vaises." 'As they descended the stairs, Victoria said, 'And I would have piped up, "And couldn't there have been tapestries also, Miss Rice?" ' bringing the expected response from Bridget, resuming the deep tone again,

' "Sit down, miss. Sit down." 'They were in the hall when Victoria, now 78really shaking with laughter, said, 'And you remember the day the old cat added, "Your brain, Victoria, is afflicted as is your voice, it's weak."?'"Oh yes, and you came home crying. She was an old cat. But now, stop your jabbering and go to the kitchen and see what Peg's up to. Nothing hot. Ask her to give us cold soup. Yes, that's an idea, ask her to give us cold soup.''She'll have a fit.''No doubt, but, nevertheless, ask her. And don't disturb me for the next half hour.''Yes, ma'am. Yes, ma'am,' and Victoria dipped her knee twice before turning and skipping towards the kitchen, while Bridget, leaving the hall, went down the corridor and into a room at the far end and which looked part library and part office, for the shelves along one wall held an array of books and those along the other, tin boxes and ledgers. The boxes, all bearing labels, and the ledgers were in sections docketed by a tin label attached to each shelf. It was called an office, and it looked an office except perhaps when you looked at some of the titles on the bookshelves: Bronte, Wilkie Collins, Mrs Gaskell, 79and in between these Tennyson and Plato's Apologia, while on another shelf, next to Lord Chesterfield's Letters, were volumes of George Eliot and Anthony Trollope.Whereas the ledgers and tin boxes were meticulously docketed, the books had no order but spoke of a wide and mixed taste in literature.If Bridget had been questioned about her taste and the jumble of books on the shelves behind her desk, she would have replied, 'Oh well, you must come down to our real home in Shields and there you will see an ordered library. The books all beautifully bound, all in the same dark red Moroccan leather, their titles engraved on the spines, but so small you can hardly read them. There must be a few thousand books in that library, and they're only distinguishable one from the other by the tone of the leather. You see, in my grandfather's time it was the done thing not just to have a library but to have the books well presented; the bindings must be all similar. The size of the books, too, had to be graded on to different shelves. He would buy books by the dozen, and have them bound by the hundred. But as my father

80said, to his knowledge he didn't think his father had ever opened one unless there was some indication that it held a map within its pages, because his only interest was in shipping and he studied maps of all kinds.'Bridget lowered herself into the outsize leather chair which had fitted her father's broad beam but in which she often slid from side to side, especially if she was wearing breeches. From a brass rack to the right side of her she took out a sheet of notepaper. There was a heading to it, saying simply, Henry Dene Mordaunt, and underneath, Manufacturer of Polishes and Candles. Andrew Kemp had suggested she alter the heading into her own name and she had laughingly said, 'What! Bridget Dene Mordaunt, Blacking and Candle Manufacturer?9 No, that was her father's heading and it would remain.She now wrote a letter to her agent in Newcastle, heading it with one word, 'Immediate,' before beginning: 'Dear Mr Fathers.' That name always amused her. She then went on to tell him that he must inform her of those vacant properties in the nearby

81towns, those at an available distance to the (factories being preferable.Having signed and sealed the letter, she rang a bell, and when Jessie herself answered it, she said, Take this letter, Jessie, and get one of them from the yard to ride to the post office. I want it to catch today's post if possible.''Important?''Yes, important, Jessie.'Jessie paused a moment, the letter in her hand; but when her mistress made no further comment she turned and left the room.Bridget shook her head as she looked towards the closed door. Jessie was ageing rapidly but, as with Danny, such a thing as age must not be mentioned. She couldn't remember ever opening her eyes as a child and not seeing Jessie's face hovering above her and speaking the same words, 'Come on, pet, open up your blinkers.' If there was any way of translating the word loyalty, then both she and Danny exemplified it, for they had been in her grandfather's service. After his death they had then gone on to see to the house for her father and mother.

And Jessie had attended her mother through her longI

82illness, the while contriving successfully to be comforter and friend to herself in those early years, especially those prior to Victoria's appearance on the scene with her father, and with his death she had drawn the little girl into her almost motherly warmth, while at the same time condemning her for her dollyfiedness, as she termed it.And so it had been ever since, except that Bridget knew it was she who held first place in Jessie's affection, as some of her down-to-earth remarks showed when she would say,

'Fancy feathers make peacocks, but you pluck them and see what's left.' The vision of a plucked peacock would always send a gurgle through Bridget's stomach.Yet Jessie was very much on Victoria's side the day she herself had donned breeches for the first time to ride out: 'Eeh! pet,' she had said, her hands to her cheeks, 'you'll get your name up. If anything'll get your name up that rig-out will. Lass, it's not done. Eeh! the shock of wearin' bloomers on bicycles will be nothin' to you, lass, once you're seen on that road in that rig-out.'And Jessie's opinion had seemed to be the general one: Dreadful, disgraceful, like a

83so immodestshe'll never be married.That last remark had been made within earshot of her, and she had startled the speaker by going to her shoulder and saying in a soft voice, 'Take off your bustle and I'll take off my breeches and the pattern underneath will be much the same.''Dreadful person. Comes out with the most outrageous remarks. She's originally from Shields, you know. Vulgar, but dirty rich. But her sister, or is it her cousin? she's different altogether, quite a young lady.'Oh, Bridget knew exactly what the opinion of her was among the crowd in which Lionel Filmore moved. And there was something beginning to worry her, too. At first it had amused her, but not any more: the fact that she was considered to be the working partner in the Henry Dene Mordaunt company. She was the one who saw to the business, while the ladylike one took her rightful place and acted according to her position. Yes, and the niggling thought had now connected itself with the ball and Lionel Filmore. Well, she could do nothing about it at the moment; in any case, perhaps he was

84only amusing himself. She hoped he wasn't, not with Victoria's feelings being at the height they were.

On an earlier stay here, she had heard that he was seeing a lot of Elizabeth Porter, the cat's daughter, as she herself thought of Kitty Porter. Yet, here he was now, pressing his attentions on Victoria, and the word was pressing, because this was his fourth visit within a matter of three weeks. She had mixed feelings about the man. She didn't know if she liked or disliked him, but as Victoria loved him so deeply, then, she told herself, she had better concentrate on his good points and work up a liking.She pulled a ledger towards her but didn't open it. Her hand flat on the scarred leather, she wondered what it was that directed one's feelings towards another? Was it just the urges of the body? She shook her head at this and her mind answered, No. Yet they were there. Yes, they were there all right. But no; it was something that emanated from the other person. There was no finger that could be put on it. You didn't ask for it or, when it came, welcome it, because such kind of love began with a troublesome feeling: it was based on hopelessness. Yet one couldn't stop

85it growing, even though in a way despising oneself for the weakness that allowed one to foster such a thought. She had even tried to kill it with ridicule, likening herself to a missionary falling in love with a Zulu who could only communicate by sign language and war dancing. But it hadn't made any difference. She opened the ledger and got down to the therapy of figures.Ii

William Filmore stood with his back to the empty grate. It was a position he took up when the fire was blazing, and it usually blazed during all the winter, spring, and autumn months. So it was a matter of habit, his standing in this position, especially whilst enjoying his after-dinner cigar.Opposite him, in a deep leather chair, sat his elder son. Lionel was well aware of his assets: he was tall, had an abundance of thick fair hair and a countenance that could only be classed as handsome, whereas his brother, Douglas, a year younger, was short in comparison, being only five-foot-six inches tall, with no manly figure to speak of, being what you would kindly call wiry. Also in contrast to Lionel, he was dark haired. His eyes, too, were dark, deep brown almost

87black. His face was longish, his chin inclined to jut. His mouth was wide and thin lipped, his disposition, too, was in contrast to his brother's in that he was of a quiet retiring nature and had what the family considered to be strange pursuits, diverse in their choice: he liked chipping stone or whittling wood; and he had a feeling for pigs. Whenever he was not working in one of the big outhouses he had claimed as a workshop, he could be found on the farm looking at the pigs, assessing them, even talking to them, it was said.Both men were looking at their father now as he said, 'We've got to put on a show, it's important. And you should know that.' He nodded towards Lionel; and Lionel came back with, 'You needn't stress the point, Father. I know it is important, and not only to me.''What do you mean by that?'

The protruding stomach seemed to expand, the red jowls bristled, and William Filmore, with a backWard flick of his hand, knocked the ash off his cigar; then, his arm going forward, the cigar, now glowing between his fingers, was thrust in the direction of his son, and he said, This'-the cigar now made a half circle-'this will be yours before long. What do you intend to do with it? Sell it? Well, I can tell you, if it went on the market it wouldn't cover half the debts. And then there's your way of life. You couldn't live without the hunt, could you? And empty stables out there would be unbearable to you.' The cigar now was pointing towards the long latticed windows at the end of the room; then when it was brought back towards his chest, he said, 'And there is your tailor, and your drink, not forgetting what you lose at cards, because you're the most unlucky bugger on God's earth with a pack of cards in your hand. So-' The cigar was now thrust back between the blue lips, its essence to be savoured for a moment; then, his voice dropping a tone, he said, It's a ball we've come to discuss, and at it I hope you'll settle your future. There's no more playing around for you, for slip up here and I'd advise you to take a boat to America and see what you can do with your charm there.''You'll need more staff.'Both the father and brother looked at Douglas. It was as if they had never before 89heard him speak. And his father's voice was quiet as he said, 'Yes, Doug, you're right, we'll need more staff. So, have you any ideas on the subject?''Not really; only I was nineteen when we last had a ball here. That's six years ago, and we had eleven indoors then and eight out.' He looked from one to the other before he ended, 'But things have changed.''That's an obvious statement if ever I heard one.' Lionel looked scathingly at his brother; then he added, 'And it can't go down in the annals that you've done much to stop the rot.'There came a slight tightening of Douglas's jaw, and the chin moved out a bit further, but his voice was level as he said, 'Well, you could say I've been serving my apprenticeship. I sold two pieces last week.''You what!' It was a joint exclamation, and surprise had caused the father to lay down his cigar on a silver stand that was to his hand on the mantelshelf, and it had brought Lionel screwing round in his chair, asking now, 'You sold your stones, I mean your pieces? Who to? The marble merchant in