Polly raised my spirits and after a while I began to forget about being plain, and as the House always fascinated me, I tried not to remember that I was only chosen because there was no one better available.
I had caught glimpses of Fabian, though not often. Whenever I did see him I thought of the time when he had made me his baby. He must remember, surely, because he would have been seven when it happened.
He was away at school most of the time and often he did not come home for holidays, but spent them with some school friend. His school friends came to the House sometimes, but they took little notice of us.
On this occasion—it was Easter time, I think—Fabian was home for the holidays. Soon after Miss York and I arrived at the House it began to rain. We had tea and Lavinia and I left the governesses together for their usual chat. We were wondering what to do when the door opened and Fabian came in.
He was rather like Lavinia, only much taller and very grown up. He was four years older than Lavinia and that seemed a great deal, particularly to me, who was a year younger than Lavinia. He must therefore have been twelve, and as I was not yet seven, he seemed very mature.
Lavinia went to him and hung on his arm as though to say, this is my brother. You can go back to Miss York. I shan't need you now.
He was looking at me oddly—remembering, I knew. I was the child whom he had thought was his. Surely such an episode must have left an impression, even on someone as worldly as Fabian.
"Will you stay with me?" pleaded Lavinia. "Will you tell me what we can do? Drusilla has such silly ideas. She likes what she thinks are clever games. Miss Etherton says she knows more than I do ... about history and things like that."
"She wouldn't have to know much to know more than you do," said Fabian—a remark which, coming from anyone else, would have thrown Lavinia into a temper, but because Fabian had said it, she giggled happily. It was quite a revelation to me that there was one person of whom Lavinia stood in awe—not counting Lady Harriet, of course, of whom everyone was in awe.
He said, "History ... I like history, Romans and all that. They had slaves. We'll have a game."
"Oh, Fabian ... really?"
"Yes. I am a Roman, Caesar, I think."
"Which one?" I asked.
He considered. "Julius ... or perhaps Tiberius."
"He was very cruel to the Christians."
"You need not be a Christian slave. I shall be Caesar. You are my slaves and I shall test you."
"I'll be your queen ... or whatever Caesars have," announced Lavinia. "Drusilla can be our slave."
"You'll be a slave, too," said Fabian, to my delight and Lavinia's dismay.
"I shall give you tasks ... which seem to you impossible. It is to prove you and see whether you are worthy to be my slaves. I shall say, 'Bring me the golden apples of Hesperides' ... or something like that."
"How could we get them?" I asked. "They are in the Greek legends. My father is always talking about them. They are not real."
Lavinia was getting impatient, as I, the plain outsider, was talking too much.
"I shall give you the tasks to perform and you must carry them out or suffer my anger."
"Not if it means going down to the underworld and bringing out people who are dead and that sort of thing," I said.
"I shall not command you to do that. The tasks will be difficult ... but possible."
He folded his arms across his chest and shut his eyes as though deep in thought. Then he spoke, as though he were the Oracle of whom my father talked now and then. "Lavinia, you will bring me the silver chalice. It must be a certain chalice. It has acanthus leaves engraved on it."
"I can't," said Lavinia. "It's in the haunted room."
I had never seen Lavinia so stricken, and what astonished me was that her brother had the power to drive the rebellion out of her.
He turned to me. "You will bring me a fan of peacock feathers. And when my slaves return to me, the chalice shall be filled with wine and while I drink it my slave shall fan me with the peacock-feather fan."
My task did not seem so difficult. I knew where there was a peacock-feather fan. I was better acquainted with the house than I had once been and I could find my way easily to Miss Lucille's apartments. I could slip into the room where I knew the fan to be, take it and bring it to Fabian. I should do it so quickly that he would commend me for my speed, while poor Lavinia was screwing up courage to go to the haunted room.
I sped on my way. A feeling of intense excitement gripped me. The presence of Fabian thrilled me because I kept thinking of the way in which he had kidnapped me, and there I had been, living in the house for two weeks just as though I were a member of the family. I wanted to astonish him with the speed with which I carried out my task.
I reached the room. What if the Indian were there? What would I say to her? "Please may I have the fan? We are playing a game and I am a slave."
She would smile, I guessed, and say "Dearie dearie me," in that sing-song voice of hers. I was sure she would be amused and amenable, though I wondered about the old lady. But she would be in the adjoining room, sitting in the chair with the rug over her knees, crying because of the past which came back to her with the letters.
I had opened the door cautiously. I smelt the pungent sandalwood. All was quiet. And there on the mantel shelf was the fan.
I stood on tiptoe and reached it. I took it down and then ran out of the room back to Fabian.
He stared at me in amazement.
"You've found it already?" He laughed. "I never thought you would. How did you know where it was?"
"I'd seen it before. It was when I was playing hide and seek with Lavinia. I went into that room by accident. I was lost."
"Did you see my great-aunt Lucille?"
I nodded. He continued to stare at me.
"Well done, slave," he said. "Now you may fan me while I await my chalice of wine."
"Do you want to be fanned? It's rather cold in here."
He looked towards the window from which came a faint draught. Raindrops trickled down the panes.
"Are you questioning my orders, slave?" he asked.
As it was a game I replied, "No, my lord."
"Then do my bidding."
It was soon after that when Lavinia returned with the chalice. She gave me a venomous look because I had succeeded in my task before she had. I found I was enjoying the game.
Wine had to be found and the chalice filled. Fabian stretched himself out on a sofa. I stood behind him wielding the peacock-feather fan. Lavinia was kneeling proffering the chalice.
It was not long before trouble started. We heard raised voices and running footsteps. I recognized that of Ayesha.
Miss Etherton, followed by Miss York, burst into the room.
There was a dramatic moment. Others whom I had not seen before were there and they were all staring at me. There was a moment's deep silence and then Miss York rushed at me.
"What have you done?" she cried.
Ayesha saw me and gave a little cry. "You have it," she said. "It is you. Dearie dearie me ... so it is you."
I realized then that they were referring to the fan.
"How could you?" said Miss York. I looked bewildered and she went on, "You took the fan. Why?"
"It ... it was a game," I stammered.
"A game!" said Miss Etherton. "The fan ..." Her voice was shaking with emotion.