I laughed. "It sounds plausible in a way, but it doesn't explain the name on the tombstone."
"He chose a name at random, not wanting to give you his own for fear some whisper of his adventures reached the ears of his beloved and faithful wife who was waiting for him. Now if I accept your encounter with the mystic stranger, you must accept my Satanic ancestor."
"I don't know why I am telling you this. I have never told anyone before."
"It's the night ... a night for confidences. Do you feel that? The darker it gets, the more clearly I can see into your mind ... and you into mine."
"But what explanation could there be?"
"You talked to a ghost ... or a man who was acting as one. People do strange things, you know."
"I am sure there is a logical explanation to your story ... and to mine."
"Perhaps we shall find the answer to yours. Mine is a little too far back to prove except that our deeds are living evidence of our progenitor's existence."
I found myself laughing. The port is very heavy, I thought, and I was aware of a pleasant lassitude and the certain knowledge that I did not want the night to end just yet.
He said, as though he read my thoughts: "I am very happy tonight. I want this to go on and on. I am not often happy like this, you know, Cordelia."
"I have always thought that true happiness came through service to others."
"I see the missionary forebears peeping out."
"I know it sounds sententious, but I am certain it is true. The happiest person I have ever known is my aunt, and when I come to think of it she is always unconsciously doing something for someone else's benefit."
"I want to meet her."
"I doubt you ever will."
"I shall, of course," he said, "for you and I are going to be ... friends."
"Do you think so? I have a feeling that this is an isolated occasion. We are sitting here in the darkness with the stars above and the smell of flowers in the air and it is having an effect on us. We are talking too much ... too freely ... Perhaps tomorrow we shall regret what we have said tonight."
"I shall regret nothing. Life has been smooth for you, Cordelia, once you were rid of your missionaries. The fairy godmother aunt provided you with your dress so that you could go to the bail; she turned the pumpkin into the coach and the rats into horses. Cinderella Cordelia is going to the bail. She is just meeting the Prince and he is not an elusive spirit who is nothing but a name on a tombstone. You know that, don't you, Cordelia?"
"Your metaphors are taking such a wild turn that they are waking me up and reminding me that it is time I said good night."
"You see," he persisted, "there was no fairy godmother for me. Mine was a harsh childhood. All the time one had to excel. There was no tenderness ... ever. It was tutors who had to get results. There was always correction ... physical mostly. I was in a prison ... like the handsome young man who turned out to be the Devil. I was wild, adventurous, wicked often, always seeking for something. I don't know what. But I think I am beginning to. Then I went to Oxford and lived riotously because I thought that was the answer. I was married ... very young ... to the suitable young girl who was as ignorant of life as I was. I had my duty to perform, which was the same as that of my ugly ancestress. I had to produce the boy. My brother had married young. He had the two girls, as you know. For myself there was nothing, and my wife had a riding accident three months after our marriage and was incapable of bearing children after that. I am not going to say that I was miserable, but frustrated, always ... dissatisfied. She died. We buried her the day you came here."
"I know," I said gently. "You were coming from the funeral."
"I had to get away. I couldn't stand any more of it. Then I saw you in the lane."
"And forced me to retreat," I said lightly.
"I caught a glimpse of you as we went past. You looked wonderful, different from anyone I had ever known, like some heroine from the past riding in that carriage."
"Boadicea?" I suggested lightly.
"I wanted to know you from that moment. And then when I found you lost ..."
"You took me for a long ride round the town."
"I had to talk to you for as long as possible. And now ... this ..."
I thought then of the handsome woman and the child I had seen in the garden of Rooks' Rest, and I said: "I believe I have met a friend of yours."
"Oh?"
"Mrs. Marcia Martindale. She has a beautiful little girl."
He was silent and I thought: I should not have said that. I am getting careless, not thinking before I speak. How could I have ever told him about the stranger in the forest? What is happening to me?
I was startled suddenly as a black shape flashed caver my head. It was eerie and I had the sudden feeling that in this ancient home there must be ghosts who could not rest, spirits of those who had met violent ends. Perhaps his wife .. .
"What was that?" I cried out.
"It was only a bat. They are flying low tonight."
I shivered.
"Innocent little creatures," he went on. "Why do they inspire people with fear?"
It is because they get into one's hair and are said to be verminous."
"They wouldn't hurt you if you didn't hurt them. Oh.... here he is again. It must be the same one. You're looking really alarmed. I think you believe they are messengers from the Devil. You do, don't you? You think I have summoned them up to do my bidding."
"I know them for bats," I said. "But that doesn't mean I like them."
I was saying to myself: I must go in, but there was something in me pleading for a little longer. I wanted to stay out in this magic night and learn more about this man, for he was revealing a great dea1 about himself. I had thought of him as brash and arrogant. He was; but there was something else about him-a sadness, even a vulnerability, something which touched me in a way.
And then ... suddenly we were no longer alone. She came into the courtyard. She was dressed in a riding habit and was bareheaded; her beautiful reddish hair was caught up in a kind of snood.
I recognized her at once.
"Jason!" she cried in a strangled voice which conveyed sadness, despair and acute melancholy.
He rose to his feet. I could see that he was very angry.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded.
She flinched and stood back a Little, her very white hands on which she wore several rings were crossed over her breast, which heaved with emotion.
She said: "I heard there was an accident. I thought it might be you, Jason. I have been frantic with anxiety."
She looked magnificent and yet she managed to be pathetic at the same time. I believed I was looking at the one-time cherished mistress who could no longer please as she once had, was aware of it, and heart-broken because of it.
He said in a low voice: "I must introduce you to Miss Grant who is from the girls' academy."
"We have already met," I said. "And you must excuse me. I must go to see Teresa." I looked straight at Marcia Martindale who seemed to express anguish, sorrow and despair all at the same time. "One of our girls had a fall from her horse. That is why I am here. She is asleep in this house and I am here to look after her."