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deeply disturbed. Why today, of all days, had he chosen to speak in such solemn tones? They would remain in my mind all through the comic play that Michael and I were about to see.
    â€˜I know that you are very much attached to Michael,’ Uncle continued. ‘Do you think you could ever marry him? There, there, don’t blush, for goodness’ sake! He is a fine young man, very personable, and following a noble vocation. He is many years older than you are, but still a young man, and I hope very much that you will marry him. If you do, whatever … whatever may happen, you will both have my blessing. But there’s the front doorbell ringing. Goodbye, Catherine. Enjoy yourself this afternoon . Is Michael taking you to tea after the theatre?’
    â€˜Yes, Uncle. We’ll go to Palfrey’s Café in Bedford Street, and then Michael will bring me home. We’ll catch an omnibus to Marble Arch and walk from there. Will you be all right here by yourself?’
    â€˜All right? Of course I’ll be all right. I’m – I’m expecting a visitor this afternoon, so I’ll not lack for company.’
    My uncle took my hand in his, and pressed it kindly. When he looked at me, I saw that tears were beginning to well up in his eyes.
    I left the study, closing the door behind me. I was very disturbed by his attitude and demeanour, and his gloomy talk about death, wills and lawyers. It was almost as though he was biding me farewell….
    The door to the parlour across the hall was open, and I saw that Milsom, the housekeeper, had placed a small table near the fireplace, laid for afternoon tea for two. She had set out the best Spode china tea service. I wondered who my uncle’s visitor could be. Even in the midst of his perturbation, he had characteristically not thought to tell me.
    Milsom, a neat, competent woman in her mid-fifties, had been with us for six years. She emerged from the kitchen passage, and went to open the front door to admit Michael. I detained her for a moment.
    â€˜Milsom,’ I said, ‘who is my uncle expecting this afternoon? Is it another lawyer? It’s not often that he has visitors at this time of day.’
    â€˜Well, miss, it’s not a lawyer, unless there are lady lawyers these days! Mr Paget told me to set out tea for two, as he was expecting a lady at half-past three. He said that I was not to ask her name, but to show her straight into the parlour. But there’s Mr Danvers ringing again. He’s very impatient, I must say! He’ll not want you both to be late for the theatre.’

    As always, the management of the Gaiety Theatre did full justice to its reputation that afternoon. They were presenting a revival of their popular musical farce
In Town
, which had been hugely successful in the previous year. The doors opened at two o’clock, and Michael had bought two tickets for the pit, at 2/6d each. Uncle, of course, had been right: it was indeed ‘all froth and nonsense’, but it was hugely enjoyable, particularly as the original principals of the farce, Arthur Roberts and Miss Florence St John, were performing that day.
    Goodbye, my dear
…. Why had Uncle Max used those words? After all, I was only going to the theatre for part of the afternoon. It sounded as though he were bidding me farewell….
    Nonsense! I still hadn’t thrown off the baleful influence of Mayfield Court and its hateful secrets. What had happened toHelen – if that was really her name? By what evil course had she ended up as a skeleton, concealed in the ruins of the washhouse? Hateful place! Child and house had decomposed together.
    I shuddered, and glanced at Michael, who seemed totally absorbed in the comic antics on the stage. There came a sudden gale of laughter, and the performers obligingly froze for an instant until the audience’s mirth had subsided.
    All the light in this building is false, I mused, man-made light; it comes