The Photograph

My grandmother Rachel's only published short story, which appeared in Good Housekeeping, September 1937, when she was 28. In my last post I wrote about finding it, having never known her.

Read my post about finding this story HERE

As the train left Paddington Station, Ellie found herself thinking that it was really a relief that Alan wasn't going to be there. It would have been almost too much if he had. She would have a better chance of making a good impression on his family if he wasn't there, and it was quite enough to be going to his home and to be seeing his relations.

If they liked her, they might possibly ask her again, or at least mention her to Alan... he would begin to see more of her… and then gradually… Her thoughts ran on in this way, and she had built and destroyed many castles the air before the train arrived at her station.

She felt nervous and excited as the car drove up the twisting gravel drive to Lambourne House, which came into view as they turned the last corner. ‘Quite nice outside, but I daresay nicer inside,’ she thought, as she looked up at the Whitworths' large, red, modern house. As she came in, Ellie had a quick impression of a light, white hall, oak chests, flowers in pots, arrangements of Boer War pistols and old swords on the walls, and a bright Albanian rug on the floor.

She was just following the butler through into an inner hall, to the drawing room, when she was met by Sybil Whitworth coming towards her.

"Ah, here you are! How are you? I'm so glad you were able to come. I wish you could have come yesterday, though it was great luck getting on Sunday. Lunch is just ready, so would you like to come straight up to your room?”

Ellie liked her tall, pale appearance, and graceful movements. She wondered if she was always so much at ease and self-confident. How she wished she could be the same herself; though of course Sybil was older than she was. Perhaps by the time she was twenty-one she would be equally easy. She glanced at Sybil's face again to see it she could make out a likeness between her and Alan.

Together they went upstairs to a bedroom looking out on to a lawn with a wall at the bottom and an iron gate leading into fields. The room was furnished with more comfort than taste, she thought, as she looked up at the silver-striped wallpaper with its frieze of roses, festooned with blue bows. Hanging over the large white bed was a row of amateurish water colours of Swiss mountains; by the bed were a bottle of Evian water and a box of biscuits. Ellie took off her hat and coat, and began combing her hair before the looking glass between the two windows.

" Oh, you've got long hair, too. I'd forgotten. I've been having an awful time growing mine," said Sybil, who was sitting on one of the window seats. A maid came in, and began rustling about with tissue paper on the bed, and handing Ellie her brushes and comb as she unpacked.

“It looks perfect. Mine's hardly long either. I'll just wash my hands, and then I'm ready."

She dropped the soap with a clatter. The maid smiled at her, and Ellie had an impression of friendly interest. The gong rang loudly, and they went down to the dining room. A tall woman with a lorgnette hanging from a chain round her neck came forward and shook hands. "Is this Miss Mallock? How do you do. I'm so glad you could come. Come and sit down. Do you know Miss Fairdale? And this is Captain Weir."

Ellie found herself sitting between a young woman with a long nose and a dark-haired military man, who asked her what part of the world she came from. After a few commonplace remarks they lapsed into silence, and Ellie was able to take a more careful look the party. Mrs Whitworth was rather like Alan, in certain expressions any-how, only harder, she thought. She hadn't the same interesting, indolent charm. She had an energetic face, and must have been very good-looking once, with her blue eyes and well-shaped nose.

She wondered what Mr Whitworth was like when he and Alan alone together. She thought him less formidable than his wife, but she could not imagine talking to him very easily. He had a grave face and amused smile like Alan's, but otherwise they weren't alike. He didn't appear to be talking much.

The rest of the party seemed quite nice. The handsome young man sitting opposite her, whom she knew by sight, was called Richard Holland-Neave. He looked rather sleepy and arrogant, but Sybil seemed to be getting on well with him. Ellie noticed that she brightened up with men. On the other side of Miss Fairdale was another man, with a very loud laugh, and a pretty girl — Clare Goring, whom she knew already. Everyone seemed to know each other well, and the talk was mostly general, and turned from a boring discussion about roads and motoring, to a poison case going on in the newspapers. Ellie happened to have followed it during the week; so she was able to put in a word now and again.

When luncheon was over, Mrs Whitworth suggested tennis, and they all went upstairs to get ready. Ellie would have liked to have dawdled over changing and have looked about the bedroom a little, but she was terrified of being last. She felt in high spirits at the prospect of tennis on such a lovely afternoon. How she hoped she would play well! They were probably all very good. She ran downstairs minutes later feeling well and energetic in her white dress, and found only Clare Goring waiting in the hall.
“I didn't you knew the Whitworths – have you known them long?” said Clare as they
went into the garden.
"No, I have only just got to know Sybil and had never seen her father and mother until to-day... but I know Alan," Ellie added after a slight pause.
Clare looked at her for a moment and began tossing up and catching her racket.
"Oh, really. Shall we knock up until the others come?"
Ellie did not think she had blushed, but she was afraid her voice sounded as though she might have been blushing.

The others joined them, and they began the first set. As she waited for Clare to serve the first ball, Ellie's legs felt unsteady and her throat dry with nervousness. To her relief she returned it quite hard, avoiding Captain Weir at the net, and they won the first point. The next shots she hit rather wildly, but she felt her confidence returning when it was her turn to serve in the next game, even though they had lost the first one. Suddenly had the exhilarating sensation of having got her "eye in," and of being able to hit as hard as she liked.

"Well done! Well played both of you. What an exciting set! I've never seen anything so close. Come and sit here, Ellie - you don't mind if I call you that, do you? - I am sure you must want a rest after such a strenuous game. I never saw anyone run about like you," said Mrs Whitworth. Ellie felt a rush of gratitude, and sat down in a deck chair beside her. If only Alan had been there after all. She might even have played with him. It was always the way. She wished she could think of something to say to his mother now.

"Sybil plays awfully well," she said at last, after they had been looking on in silence for some minutes. It was a little easier after that. Mrs Whitworth asked her about girls’ schools until they asked her to play once more. Again Ellie and her partner just won, and she went into tea feeling radiantly happy. She had played really well, Mrs Whitworth had praised her and she got on quite well with her. I expect she just thinks I am a "nice little thing,' but even if she does, it is better than nothing, she thought as she sat down rapturously to a plate of cherries.

It was after dinner. Everyone was sitting in the drawing room waiting while Miss Fair-dale tuned her violin. The long French windows were open on to the garden, and it was gradually growing darker outside, but only one or two lamps were lit. Ellie was sitting in a dark corner the room, near one end of the grand piano.

The music began. They were playing a Schubert sonata which she knew well, and a delicious emotion stole over her. She felt exquisitely happy and sad, as she sat in a low arm chair, with her hands tightly clasped in her lap; and she let her thoughts stray away from the music. She thought with pleasure and excitement of the tennis that afternoon, and the pleasure of staying at Alan’s home: she still had a whole night, and breakfast tomorrow morning, before she had to leave - anything - might happen before then. Alan! - the thought of him sent a delicious secret pang through her.

The first movement came to an end, and there were a few murmurs of applause. Ellie
was still thinking about Alan, and she was thankful when the music began again,
so that she could continue her reverie undisturbed. Suddenly she noticed a small table a little behind her chair, in a dark corner of the room. On it, standing by itself in a large silver frame was a photograph of a young man whom she guessed in a moment was Alan.

She gave it a glance, and then looked quickly at Miss Fairdale playing the violin, her heart beating a little faster, as though he had actually come into the room. She kept her head turned away for the next moment or two, so agitated that she could scarcely think. She could feel her checks burn, and was afraid that someone would notice. She looked at the photograph again, this time for longer. The light was bad, and she could not see it clearly, but it seemed to be him. When she turned her head away at last, she saw that Mrs Whitworth’s eyes were fixed on her. At once she felt herself blush crimson. She was certain that his mother must have noticed her looking at it, and would be sure to guess why. She kept her eyes glued for some time to Richard Holland-Neave’s forehead, which was all she could see over the piano score. She wondered if Mrs Whitworth was still watching her and if she could relax soon. If only she could be less self-conscious, and more a woman of the world, like Sybil or Clare Goring.

After this, the feeling of ecstasy which the music produced grew sadder and more beautiful. Never before had it filled her with such a wonderful emotion. She could see Alan’s face clearly in imagination, half as in real life, half as in the photograph. She longed to turn round and take another look at it, but she did not dare, for fear of meeting Mrs Whitworth's eyes again immediately afterwards.

Suddenly the music was over, and everyone rose to say good night. Ellie, to her surprise, felt an odd reluctance to leave the room; almost as though Alan himself had been there, and she had been putting off saying goodnight to him. She was standing with her back to the little table, half listening to what Clare and Sybil and Miss Fairdale were discussing, as they slowly made their way over to the door where Mrs Whitworth was already waiting.

The photograph! It flashed across her mind that she might take it upstairs with her, to bed. Directly the thought entered her head, she felt an overwhelming desire to carry it out. If only she could just take it away to her bedroom, where she could look at it for as long as she liked! How delightful it would be to have it by her bedside.

"Well, I am going to bed-and I am sure you must want to, too, Helen, after all your heavenly playing. It was too delicious," Mrs Whitworth said at last, as she took Miss Fairdale by the arm, and they all followed her out into the hall.
"You must be tired, too, Ellie. I hope you didn't overdo it, my dear, playing tennis this afternoon. You looked a little tired after dinner, I thought."
"Oh no, thank you. Not in the least. I don't feel at all tired," Ellie replied, hoping that she hadn't seemed too silent and preoccupied. She said good night all round, and they all went up to bed.
Ten minutes later, almost without thinking, Ellie walked swiftly downstairs. With a beating heart she opened the drawing-room door; switched on the light; tiptoed across the parquet floor and snatched up the photograph; and the next moment, a large red book from another table to conceal it, as she carried them both away under her arm. The book would, of course, explain her return to the drawing- room. How easy it was. She was just beginning to congratulate herself, and feel how right she had been to run such a trifling risk, when she met Mrs Whitworth at the top of the stairs.

“Oh – I just went down to fetch some – a book,” a book, said Ellie, smiling rather desperately.
“Well, my dear, don't read too late. What book did you choose?”

Heavens! She hadn't even looked at the name in her hurry. She glanced hastily at the red volume under her arm, clutching it tighter to her side in terror lest the photograph in its silver frame might fall and clatter on the stairs.
"Oh yes, how stupid of me! …. Creasy's Decisive Battles.”
"Dear me! What a learned young woman you must be! Still. I am glad someone is reading it at last. It was given to Alan years ago, as a drawing prize at his school, and I know he's never looked at it since. Well, goodnight my dear, I hope you have got all you want and will sleep well.”
‘Thank goodness. Thank God! Oh, what luck—what an escape!’ Oh but you fool – you fool – of course she will think you an awful prig. Never mind, never mind, I’m safe anyhow,’ was all Ellie could mutter to herself, as she made herself walk calmly to the passage that led to her bedroom.

Her first movement, once she had shut the door, was to rush over to the looking glass. Her face was white. She could see the pulse in her neck beating quickly up and down, and feel her heart booming. She felt much more agitated now she had time to think about what might have happened, and she sat down on the bed to recover, holding the book, with the photograph still concealed behind it, against her chest.

‘Well, anyhow, I managed to get through with it all right, and I may as well have a look now all is safe,’ she thought at last, after she had sat there for five minutes staring in front of her, afraid to move for fear of reminding herself that she must certainly have appeared a prig to Mrs Whitworth. “Alan has never looked at it since.” Remembering his mother’s voice made her squirm afresh. ‘Oh well – ' She suddenly turned on the lamp by her bedside, flung the book down, and held the photograph under the light.

‘My darling, if only you know how I love you – oh, if only you did. You little know that I think about you all day and every night. Oh, love me, Alan, love me – ’ she whispered. The door opened. With a frantic scrambling movement, Ellie thrust the photograph under her pillow, and turned round.

“Hullo, aren’t you undressed yet? You look rather startled. I’m sorry if I disturbed you. I did knock, but per’haps you didn’t hear,” said Sybil, who was standing in the doorway, looking very handsome in a green dressing gown.

“Oh no, it’s all right. Please come in. You made me jump rather. I – I’ve been reading,” Ellie replied, slightly losing her head, for Creasy’s Decisive Battles was lying shut on the bed.

“No, no, I won’t stay, unless of course you’re sure you don’t mind? I only came in to see if you were all right in here and had got everything you wanted – ”

Ellie didn’t think Sybil could have seen her actually looking at the photograph – she had been too quick for that – but she wondered if she would be asked again what she was reading, and if Sybil would wonder why she had taken Alan’s prize.
"What? Oh yes, do come in and talk, I'd love you to,” she said quickly. She was still standing unnaturally close to the head of the bed, trying to shield the pillows from Sybil's view. She dared not move in case a corner of the silver frame might still be showing.
"I say, that is a lovely dressing-gown - I love that kind of velvet,” she said at last, after racking her brains for something to say. To her relief, Sybil burst into a stream of chatter and moved away to one of the windows.
"I'm so glad you like it. It's rather hot for a night like this. Goodness, I am hot. I've just had a bath, which was foolish of me. I shall probably lie awake all night now. Do you ever get insomnia? I do sometimes, when I'm excited, or in love or something. I say, there’s a marvellous moon tonight," she said, leaning her head and shoulders out of the window.

Ellie slipped her hand under the pillow, and found the photograph was well pushed back – so her fears had been groundless after all. She gave it another slight shove, and then moved casually over to an arm chair near the fire-place, and began to undress quickly.

She had been so agitated that she had hardly been able to attend to what Sybil was saying, but she had felt a pang of surprise when she had heard her say with such ease that being in love kept her awake. How extraordinary that Sybil should be able to tell her that: she hardly knew her! Ellie wondered if she could possibly confide in her about Alan. Sybil might help her perhaps – and she tried to think how to begin. Should she say outright: “Have you ever been in love?” and then lead up to Alan, or what? Directly she thought of the words, she felt herself recoil from the idea, and she realised that she would find it impossible.

Presently Sybil moved away from the window and sat down opposite her, and they began to talk about people they knew. Ellie found her sympathetic, and later as the conversation widened, she managed to draw out a few anecdotes about Alan without, she thought, giving herself away. And by piecing together scraps of Sybil’s information, she found out a little more about his character.

He was not likely to be much of a success at the Bar, Sybil said, as although he was clever he had no ambition at all. She did not know much about his life in London. He had a good many friends, but she did not know any of them, he kept them rather dark. He did not care about going to dances, but he sometimes took her to them as he was very good natured in those ways. He had a room over the garage where he kept all his books and a piano – he had a passion for music. He liked fishing, but he was nearly always in London, or abroad. Ellie longed to go on asking about him - what time he got up –whether they ever had family rows and if so, how he behaved in them – what he was like when he was angry, whether he was ever silly – but she was afraid of showing too much interest.

.

At last, after they had talked for nearly an hour, Sybil said goodnight. She put out the lights, and went over to the window and sat on the sill, with her head and shoulders leaning out. The moon was nearly full; its face stared down at her, mournful and remote, it seemed to be wailing. As she gazed at it, she felt drawn to it by a passionate sympathy. At last she turned her eyes away, on to the lawn below, with shadows looking black against the queer pale brightness of the grass and trees. The sky was so light that it seemed like a warm mysterious dawn.

She leant out still further, taking pleasure in her precarious position, and drew a deep breath, sniffing in the summer scent of the garden. She felt suddenly tremendously alive and awake, and a wild joy swept over her. She longed to tear over the lawn with bare feet, and feel the cold dew, and plunge her face into a great bed of wet flowers – grass – anything! It was so warm. How delicious to feel the air without even a dressing gown on, only what a waste to be alone. If only Alan was there now. But she had the photograph - she felt a little thrill of excitement every time she thought of it.

It was half past one before she dared turn on the light again and gaze at it. It did give her pleasure, and she felt it was worth the terrors she had been through. The idea of sleeping with it under her pillow made her feel happy too: and she only felt a faint qualm about putting it back the next morning. She would get up very early, and then it would be quite easy under cover of Decisive Battles. She settled down for the night feeling tired and content, and full of imaginary new scenes of Alan’s life. They became so absorbing that she tried to keep awake and continue them but gradually everything became blurred and she went to sleep.

The next morning Ellie woke up, slowly at first, then very quickly. She had remembered the photograph, and sprang out of bed. To her horror, she saw a shining brass can with a towel neatly arranged over it, standing on the washstand, and the curtains drawn back. In an agony of mind she looked at her watch. One minute past nine – and breakfast was at nine!

‘Oh how could I have slept! What a fool I am. An utter, utter fool. What shall I do? Oh Lord – Oh Lord – I must be quick…. hurry… hurry… ’ she thought feverishly, pulling on her clothes. Of course it would happen. Anyhow she must simply fly. Never mind about teeth. Perhaps breakfast would be late and people wouldn’t be about yet – Heavens! There was the gong! Where was her other stocking?.... She must keep calm…. calm… it was no use getting agitated. She gabbled aloud to herself, as she frenziedly pulled out one drawer after another, and darted about the room, trying to do everything at once : finding in her haste that she could not remember what she was looking for next.

At last she was ready. She dived under her pillow for Alan’s photograph, quietly opened the door, and went out into the passage, with Creasy’s Decisive Battles clutched under her arm; but the next moment she hastily drew back into her bedroom again, for she had seen Sybil and one of the guests disappearing downstairs.

“I can’t do it. I can’t put it back! How awful. What on earth am I to do now?” she thought.

There was nothing for it but to trust to luck that she would find an opportunity before she went – but she was leaving almost directly after breakfast, and supposing she wasn’t able to put it back, what then? Well, she would simply have to fling it out of the window, or hide it in one of the bathrooms- anywhere, so long as it was far enough from her bedroom not to make them suspect her of having taken it. She finished those details of her dressing which she had not had time for in her scramble to be down in time, and after glancing around the room, decided that her suitcase under the bed was the safest place in which to hide the photograph while she was at breakfast. She would dash up afterwards, and get rid of it somehow. She slipped it in hastily and went down to breakfast feeling a little less flustered.

Nearly everyone was down already, and there were only two empty places. Ellie helped herself to coffee and scrambled eggs, and sat down by Richard Holland-Neave at Mr Whitworth’s end of the table. It was a lovely morning, and she felt what a waste it was that she could not really enjoy her last meal in Alan’s house. The sun was streaming in at the windows, and everyone seemed cheerful. The coffee and food, too, were excellent but she could hardly eat because of a nervous, restless feeling inside her. She could not help worrying as to how she would replace the photograph - the silver frame was so conspicuous.

She remembered that she had made up her mind the night before, that she would try and seize the opportunity of talking to Mr Whitworth, and if possible show him that she was really more intelligent than she appeared; she had thought of lots of things to say, while she was in bed, but now, in spite of the fact that he was sitting near her, and had given her a friendly glance when she had come in, she felt too nervous to attempt a remark. Suddenly she heard Mrs Whitworth talking about Alan, from the other end of the table. She felt a pang inside her as though she were coming down in a fast lift, and she tried to listen without showing how tense and eager she felt.

“Yes I wish you could have seen Alan. It is such a pity you have to go this morning. He is coming down next Sunday – you always seem to miss him. You heard about his…” she heard Mrs Whitworth saying to Miss Fairdale; but at that moment Captain Weir came and sat down heavily beside her with a large plateful of ham, and began telling her about “an extraordinarily funny dream” he had had the night before, and to her disappointment she could not hear any more. The dream went on endlessly, and she felt her face beginning to ache with the effort of giving continual forced laughs while Captain Weir went on – between mouthfuls of scone and guffaws of laughter – about how he had come down to dinner at his aunt’s house in “Er – well, déshabillé!”

Ellie strained her ears to catch what Miss Fairdale was saying – they were laughing over something – but it was no good, Captain Weir’s dream went boisterously on: she was afraid she would hurt his feelings if she turned her head further the other way to listen, so she gave up trying. At last they rose up from the table and she was free to follow Mrs Whitworth and Miss Fairdale into the drawing room.

“Do you know,” she heard Miss Fairdale saying, “I haven’t seen Alan since Oxford, extraordinary though it sounds. I expect I should hardly recognise him now.”

“Yes I suppose it must be years – Oh you haven’t seen the last photograph of him, have you? It’s rather a nice one. It will give you quite a good idea of what he’s like. I wonder if you will think he has changed at all,” Ellie heard his mother answer. She felt dazed, and stood quite still, with one hand clutching the back of an armchair. Why had she followed them into the room? Oh why hadn’t she gone straight upstairs… It was too late to retreat now- she must try to remain calm; and feeling faint with suspense, she watched Mrs Whitworth go up to the little table.

“Hullo! How very odd! It isn’t there, and I feel sure I saw it last night. It always stands on this table, I never move it! It was in a silver frame… very queer that it should have disappeared,” she heard Mrs Whitworth exclaim.

“How extraordinary! I wonder where it can be. Perhaps it has fallen behind something,” Ellie found herself saying in an over surprised voice: which sounded odd to her for she felt choked by the violent beating of her heart.

“Yes, it is – very. Oh, perhaps Amy took it away to clean the frame. It must be that. We’ll see. It’s all right, Ellie don’t please bother to look, it’s sure to turn up,” said Mrs Whitworth, ringing the bell.

‘No, she hadn’t taken it away to be cleaned, and she hadn’t noticed whether it was there or not when she was dusting that morning, and she didn’t know anything about it, and hadn’t seen it nowhere - ’ the housemaid answered to the questions asked.

“Dear me; well, I suppose it will turn up. How very tiresome of it to disappear, just when we want it. Amy, you might ask the other maids if they know anything about it, and to bring it to me if they find it.”

“Very good, M’m.”

Ellie felt a burst of relief. Was she really going to be lucky enough to escape again? Surely they would never suspect her – she had acted too well for that. She must rush up and get rid of it somehow, before Amy had time to tell all the servants.

“I am sorry you have had such a short visit, Ellie, but you must come again, and stay longer next time – we have so enjoyed having you,” said Mrs Whitworth just as Ellie was quietly making for the door.

“Oh thank you, I should love to. It’s been simply perfect being here. I have enjoyed it… I think perhaps I ought to go up and pack now… as Miss Fairdale and I leave for the station in about – quite soon – I believe, so I must –”

“Nonsense, my dear. Of course the maid will pack for you, she has probably finished it by now.”

“Oh, but I always pack my own things, it’s no trouble, really …”

“No, no, I won’t hear of such a thing. Of course you mustn’t bother. You have just got time to pick yourself a nice bunch of flowers before you go. Come along and I will help you get them,” and she led Ellie outside through the window.

“These purple and pink stocks are rather darlings aren’t they?” They have done so well this year, too. Alan and I did a lot of planting this spring. You know my son, don’t you? Sybil told me that he met you at some party in London – and that you had got to know each other quite separately. I wish we could have got him to come down this time – he will be sorry to have missed you. You must come again another time. I think a few delphiniums, don’t you? Won’t you pick some for yourself? You’re letting me do all the work, you know,” Mrs Whitworth said, with a little laugh, to which Ellie could not respond, she felt so removed from playfulness. They were moving farther and farther from the house, she could not even attend to the sudden allusion to Alan, though the shock of hearing his name increased her agitation.

“What do you think of my lupins? I think on the whole I shall arrange this border a little differently, though, next year. It’s such fun planting out new schemes. Are you fond of gardening?”

“What? Oh yes – I am, very,” Ellie answered, untruthfully. “But I don’t know much about it… I think perhaps I ought –”

“Oh no, it’s quite all right. There is heaps of time still. Is that why you’ve been so on tenterhooks; are you afraid of being late? But I promise I won’t let you be. You must come and see my carnations and hydrangeas in the greenhouse, they really are looking lovely … my dear child! Aren’t you feeling well?”

“Oh yes, thank you … I’m quite all right… only I have forgotten something… I mean, I have left something out… I must just… would you mind… if I just went to see…”

Ellie rushed blindly off, feeling that she would have gone mad with suspense if she had had to listen to remarks about the carnations. She dashed up to her bedroom. Thank goodness her suitcase was still there, standing ready to be packed in the middle of the room. She seized it and began searching frantically to see if the photograph might still be there. Recklessly she turned the contents out on to the floor, tearing everything undone in her wild haste. It ought to be at the bottom somewhere… perhaps it was wrapped up. With trembling hands she tore open the tissue paper wrappings, she felt inside her shoes, her sponge bag… it was no use the maid must have found it!

She began slowly to put her things back into the suitcase. Her mind was almost a blank, and she felt a numbness creep over her. She heard a knock at the door: she stuffed in her dresses, crammed down the lid and moved over to the window, standing with her back to the room.

“The car is here, please, Miss. I’ll take your case down,” she heard the maid say, and she heard the click of the lock as the lid was shut down, but she could not bring herself to turn around, nor to say anything.

“I think they’re all ready downstairs,” the maid murmured, and Ellie heard the door close. She stood paralysed for a moment in the middle of the room. What should she do? Tips! Perhaps she could bribe the maid to say nothing. She dashed along the passage after the girl’s retreating form.

“One second…. Please… Can you tell me who – did pack my things?” she asked breathlessly.

“No Miss, it was Amy, the first housemaid, did it.”

“Oh! I - I just wondered. Thank you, I must be getting ready.”

Suddenly there were shouts of impatience from downstairs, and in a panic she seized her hat and coat and rushed down to the hall, to find to her immense relief that after all only Mrs Whitworth and Sybil were waiting to see her and Miss Fairdale off – not the whole party in dead silence exchanging looks, as she had feared.

Ellie got into the motor with a sinking heart. All her hopes of having made a good impression gone. She knew that by the time she had reached the station, the photograph would probably have been restored to its place. Amy would certainly have told Mrs Whitworth where she had found it, and they would all know that she had taken it up to bed with her. They would guess her secret, and she would never be asked to stay there again, nor ever see Alan any more. He would hear about it, too – that would be almost the worst thing of all… and yes – she hadn’t grasped the full horror of the situation before – they wouldn’t realise – they would think that she had meant to keep the photograph - in fact, that she had meant to steal it, in its silver frame!

A week later, Ellie found a letter, brought by the afternoon post.

July 27^th

Dear Ellie,

I am writing absurdly far ahead, but I want to collect my party before we go away. Could you come here on October 16^th, Friday til Monday? The Moyles (neighbours of ours) are giving a ball for their eldest girl. It is such a beautiful old house, and Sybil and I thought it would be fun to bring over a party.

Do say yes, my dear. It would be so nice to have you for longer next time. We so enjoyed our glimpse of you last Sunday.

Yours sincerely,

Marion Whitworth

Ellie’s heart beat violently. What could it mean? Was it possible that Mrs Whitworth knew nothing about her taking the photograph? Or was she just passing over it without saying a word? An enormous sense of relief sprang up in her. She read the letter through again. She could hardly help smiling involuntarily. Even if the Whitworths knew, it showed that Mrs Whitworth still wanted to ask her. The humiliation and suffering she had experienced during the past week suddenly rolled away, and she rushed up to her bedroom writing table.

It had not been nearly as bad arriving at Lambourne as Ellie had feared. The Whitworths seemed just the same in their manner towards her, and it had all been very easy and jolly having sherry in the drawing room before going up to their bedrooms to dress. Alan was there. He had glanced at her across the room with a particular look, as though he was glad she was there. He had also told her, on their way upstairs, that he was going to sit next to her at dinner!

There was a much larger party than before, and she had been given Sybil’s room, for they were packed like sardines she had told Ellie. The curtains were drawn and there was a bright fire. The room had a comfortable nursery atmosphere, with a high fender, and a quantity of wooden animals and objects arranged on the mantelpiece. Ellie’s tulle gown was spread out on the bed, and her things put ready for the ball. Her eye was caught by some photographs standing on Sybil’s little writing bureau. Two were of her parents, in a big leather folding wallet. The other was of Alan. Ellie felt a queer sensation on seeing it. He looked very young, with melancholy eyes and a smoother rounder face, peering over a stand up collar. It must be of him as an Eton boy – perhaps his last year there. How charming he looked!

There was a knock at the door, and Amy, the housemaid came bustling in. Ellie felt a pang of suspense.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Miss? I came to see if you could find where I put your things? This is your chest of drawers. I left some of Miss Sybil’s things in that other one. Your shoes I put in here.”

“Thank you so much. No, really, there’s nothing. I think I can find everything perfectly.”

“All right then, Miss. I’ll be running along to some of the other young ladies. There’s a regular squash here this time.” She gave a cheerful giggle, and Ellie thought how good natured she looked. She had a faintly familiar manner, which made her friendly and unformidable. Amy paused in the doorway.

“There now! I knew I’d be forgetting something. Miss Sybil wanted her photos. She said they’d be in your way.”

“Oh yes. Are they? Do take them.” Ellie tried to make her voice sound natural. She walked over to the fire.

Amy folded the wallet containing Mr and Mrs Whitworth, and held up Alan’s photograph.

‘You won’t want this one, this time, will you! Mr Alan’s here all right.”

She gave Ellie a knowing look, and with a gurgling laugh whisked out of the room.

Ellie’s first feeling was of burning shame, followed by overwhelming relief. It was too good to be true. All her fears and self-torture had been for nothing! How frightfully nice of Amy not to have given her away – she must have understood – perhaps she had a young man herself? A delicious feeling of confidence and excited anticipation filled her, as she rapidly took off her clothes. She looked forward to putting on her new dress. No shadow could now spoil her evening with Alan. There was always hope… who knew but that he might fall in love with her? They would get to know each other better this evening… and later… they would become engaged!

Goodness, the time! She had barely half an hour, she must dash to her bath, instead of dreaming!