I wanted to shake myself. That was why when I saw that notice about Bury St Edmunds I had the idea of going on a voyage of discovery. I had mentioned Bury St Edmunds-as the only town I knew in Suffolk-and he had said yes ... his home was near there.
Croston. That was the name he had mentioned. The little town near Bury St Edmunds. Suppose I went there and found Compton Manor. I should not call of course. I could hardly do that. But I should convince myself that he was a rather illmannered young man and I was a sensible young woman who did not go off into flights of fancy and then wonder whether they were real or not.
Then the opportunity presented itself.
It was between terms. The negotiations for the house were completed. Aunt Patty would leave Grantley at the beginning of April. I should then be on my way to Colby Abbey school.
A great deal of activity was in progress. Aunt Patty enjoyed this. There was so much furniture and effects to be disposed of and she was having certain alterations made to the new house so that there was continual coming and going. Violet was harassed and said she didn't know whether she was on her head or her heels, but Aunt Patty flourished.
She had to F go to Moldenbury to see the architect and decided that while she was in London, where it was necessary to change trains, she would stay a few days and make some purchases and see about the sale of the school equipment which remained at Grantley; then she would go on to Moldenbury. It was decided that I should accompany her.
When we were in London I said I should like to stay a little longer as I had some shopping to do for myself and it was arranged that I should stay at Smiths, the small and comfortable family hotel which Aunt Patty always used when she came to London and where they knew her well, while she went on to Moldenbury. When she came back to London we could return to Grantley together.
Thus I found myself alone and I knew that if ever I was going to make that tour of investigation I must do so now.
I left early in the morning and as the train carried me to Bury St Edmunds I asked myself whether I was being impulsive in what I was doing. What if I came face to face with him? What would be my excuse for seeking him out? He had come to Canterton, hadn't he? Yes, but this was different. He had shown quite clearly that he did not want to continue the acquaintance ... friendship ... or whatever it was. It was not very good manners to seek him out therefore.
No. But I had no intention of calling at Compton Manor if I found it. I would go into a nearby inn and ask discreet questions. If the people of Suffolk were as fond of a gossip as those of Sussex, I might fend out what I wanted to know, which was, I assured myself, merely to find out whether there had ever been a man called Edward Compton, so that I could rid myself of this absurd notion that I had been suffering from some sort of hallucination.
It was a bright cold morning-rather bracing-and as the train carried me along I grew more and more excited. We were in on good time and I was elated when, asking how I could find my way to Croston, I was told there was a branch line with a service every three hours, and if I hurried I could just catch the next train.
I did so and congratulated myself as we puffed along through the pleasant but flat countryside.
Croston was nothing more than a halt. I saw a man who might have been a railway official and I approached him. He was oldish with a grey beard and rheumy eyes. He looked at me with curiosity, and it struck me that he did not see many strangers.
"Is Compton Manor near here?" I asked.
He looked at me oddly and then nodded. Again my spirits rose.
"What do you want with the Manor?" he asked me.
"I ... er ... wanted to go that way."
"Oh, I see." He scratched his head. "Take the footpath. It'll take you into Croston. Then through the street and bear to the right."
It was working out very easily.
Croston was one short street of a few thatched cottages, a village shop, a church and an inn. I bore to the right and walked on.
I had not gone very far when I saw an old signpost. Half of it was broken away. I looked at it closely. "Compton Manor," I read.
But which way? It must be up the lane for the only other way was where I had come from. I started up the lane and turning a bend I saw a mansion.
Then I gasped in horror. This could not be the place. And yet there was the signpost...
I approached. It was nothing more than a shell. The stone walls were blackened. I went through an opening in those scorched walls and noticed that there were weeds growing among the grass where once there had been rooms. Then the fire was not recent.
This could not be Compton Manor. It must be farther on.
I left the blackened ruin behind me and found the road. There was nothing before me but open fields, and because of the flatness of the land, I could see for miles ahead and there was certainly no house there.
I sat down on the grass verge. I was baffled. Seeking to solve the mystery, I had plunged farther into it.
There was nothing to do but retrace my steps to the station. There would be about two hours to wait for the next train to Bury St Edmunds.
Slowly I walked into the town. My journey had been fruitless. I came to the church. It was very ancient -Norman I guessed. There were very few people about. I had been rather silly to come.
I went into the church. It had a beautiful stained glass window-rather impressive for such a small church. I approached the altar. Then I was looking at the brass plaque engraved on which were the words "In memory of Sir Gervaise Compton, Baronet of Compton Manor". I looked about me and saw that there were other memorials to the Compton family.
While I stood there I heard a step behind me. A man was coming into the church carrying a pile of hassocks.
"Good morning," he said, "or rather afternoon." "Good afternoon," I replied.
"Taking a look at our church?"
"Yes. It's very interesting."
"Not many visitors come. Though it is one of the oldest in the country."
"I thought it must be."
"Are you interested in architecture, Madam?" "I know very little about it."
He looked disappointed and I guessed he had wanted to give me a lecture on Norman versus Gothic. He must be a church warden or verger or something connected with the church.
I said: "I have been looking at that burned-out house along the road. Could that be Compton Manor?"
"Oh yes, Madam. That was Compton."
"When was the fire?"
"Oh, it must have been nigh on twenty years ago."
"Twenty years ago!"
"Terrible tragedy. It started in the kitchens. The shell of the place is left. I wonder they don't rebuild or something. The walls are still sturdy. They were built to last a thousand years. There's been talk about it but nobody ever does anything."
"And the Compton family?"
"It was the end of them ... they died in the fire. A boy and a girl. Tragic it was. People still talk of it. Then there was Sir Edward and Lady Compton. They died too. In fact the whole family was wiped out. It was a big tragedy for this place, for the Comptons were Croston at that time. It's never been the same since. No big family to take the girls into service and take care of the interests of the village ..."