However, I did not think very much more about the incident.
There was a letter for me from John Markham. He asked me what it felt like to be back at school after the holidays. "That was an unforgettable week we all had together," he wrote. "I felt we had all known each other for years. Why ever didn't Lydia ask you for holidays? We might have known each other earlier. I do wish I could see you. Is it taboo to visit the school? I suppose it would not be considered quite comme il faut. Isn't there something called a half term? Do you go home? Perhaps it is rather a long way for such a short time. It wouldn't be quite so far to come to London. I'd like you to meet my brother Charles. Perhaps you and Teresa could visit us? Do think about it."
I did think about it and it was rather enticing. I did not mention it to. Teresa because I felt it would raise her hopes and I was not sure whether I should go.
I was still suffering from the shock of my encounter with Jason Verringer in the Devil's Den at Colby Hall. It had disturbed me even more than I had thought at the time. I could not stop thinking of him and my mind built up images of what might have happened if I had not made that dramatic gesture in thrusting my hands through the window. It had been a hopeless gesture in any case. I should never have been able to elude him if he was determined to catch me. And if I had managed to get through the window would I have jumped from the top of the tower? What I had implied was that I preferred death to submission to him. It was foolhardy. Yet it had sobered him. He had been really shocked to see the blood on my hands.
Stop thinking of him, I admonished myself. Forget him. It was just an unpleasant experience from which I had emerged unscathed. Even the scars on my hands had healed now. But at Colby I was surrounded by ruins of the past with all the grim legends and terrible sufferings that must have occurred and I was overwhelmed by an ambience of disaster and doom.
Here strange things happened. Jason Verringer seemed never far away. What had really happened to his wife? Where was Marcia Martindale? There would always be questions where Jason was. He was a man of dark secrets. One could almost believe that the Devil had been one of his forebears.
And how different it had been at Epping-the sunshine, the smell of corn, the simplicity of everything, the way of life, the people. It was clean and fresh and easy to understand. Peace ... that was what it offered ... and peace seemed very alluring just now. I had a desire to be there and yet .. . almost against my will I was drawn to the dark towers of Colby Hall and the ruins of the Abbey.
What finally decided me about taking up John's invitation was another letter I had. It was forwarded on to me by Aunt Patty and was from Monique Delorme.
"Dear Cordelia," she wrote in French.
"I am no longer Mademoiselle Delorme but Madame de la Creseuse. Yes. I married Henri. Life is wonderful. We are coming to London. We have been lent a house for two weeks by friends of Henri. So we shall be in your capital from the third of next month. It would be wonderful to see you. Write to me there. I will give you the address. I look forward to hearing your news. Do come.
Always your loving and faithful friend. Monique."
I told Daisy that I had received an invitation from some friends with whom we had stayed in the summer.
"Their home is in London, but we were with them in the country for a week. I could go in mid term. It is only for five days, including the week-end. I thought I might take advantage of it."
Daisy was thoughtful. "Few of the girls will go home. Of course there are no lessons. I don't think any of the other mistresses plan to go away. Yes, I do think you might manage it."
"Teresa is invited too."
"Oh, that will be nice for her."
"Then it is quite all right for me to make my plans?"
"Yes. I think so. Go ahead."
So I did. John wrote back that he was delighted. Teresa was wild with joy. I also wrote to Monique at the address she had enclosed in her letter and said that I would call on her when she was in London.
John was at Paddington station and in a short Lime we were trotting along in a cab to his home in Kensington. It was a tall house in a square and guarded by two ferocious-looking stone lions; the white steps leading to a heavy oak door were gleaming and the brass shone like gold.
When he opened the door with his key, a tall young man was hovering in the hall.
"This is Charles," said John. "He's longing to meet you. He's heard all about your stay at the farm."
It was the same open face and good looks. I liked Charles at once.
The maid appeared.
"Oh yes, Sarah," said John. "They'll want to go to their rooms. Teresa, you are next to Cordelia."
We mounted a staircase richly carpeted in a warm scarlet and came to a landing. The maid opened a door and I was in a bright bedroom with a four-poster bed, not a bit like the ones they had at the Hall, heavily curtained in velvet. This one had lace curtains draped at either end and caught into bows of pale mauve satin ribbon. It had brass knobs and rails and seemed to glow with freshness. There was some light and elegant furniture which suggested eighteenth-century France. It was charming. I went to the window and looked out on a small paved garden in which were pots of greenery which must glow with colour in the spring and summer. Chrysanthemums and Michaelmas daisies were still in flower against a grey brick wall.
Teresa came in. She looked radiant. She had a lovely little room and there was a communicating door between it and mine. I went in and had a look. It had obviously been a dressing room.
"Isn't it wonderful?" she cried.
She was so happy. Not only to get away from school but because we were here with John. She was a girl who fixed her affections firmly when she found an object of admiration. She had turned to me in desperation and from our association had come all the people she cared for most. Myself. Aunt Patty. Violet. And now she had added John to that band. It was overwhelming for her who had had no one and then suddenly so many.
I feared she was a little dramatic. I should never forget how she had flung Marcia Martindale's earring into the ponds. She was so young and had little control over her emotions and, being inexperienced, saw everyone as very good or very bad. There were devils and angels ... and nothing in between. She would have to learn, but for the next few days she would be with those whom she loved and admired and was happy.
Dinner that night was exciting. There was a gracious dining room with long windows onto the street. As we ate we heard the clop clop of passing horse-drawn carriages and occasionally the sound of a newsboy selling late night papers.
We talked of the week in the country, of school, of London and what we should do during our stay.
"There is so much to show you," said John. "Now what shall it be first?"
"I have an appointment with an old school friend," I said. "She has invited me to call. That is for the day after tomorrow."
"Well then, what's for tomorrow. Teresa, have you any idea? The zoo is amusing."
"I like animals," cried Teresa.
"Ail right then. Tomorrow morning, zoo. How would you like to ride in the Row, Teresa?"
Teresa was slightly less enthusiastic. She had never fully recovered from her fall, although I had persuaded her to ride again. "Yes," she said hesitantly.
So it was agreed.
We had a wonderful morning. It was not only Teresa who was delighted by the animals. We watched the seals fed; we marvelled at the lions and tigers; and we laughed at the antics of the monkeys. We sipped lemonade on the terraces and I thought how happy I was. I did not want the visit to end.
Dinner was a hilarious affair with everyone-now that they had got used to us-trying to talk at once. We sat in the elegant drawing room, rather like the dining room only at the back of the house instead of the front, with French windows facing the little patiolike garden.