Polly tried to imagine Lady Belling ham as a country girl of nineteen and failed sadly. There was something so world-weary and disillusioned about Lady Belling ham, though that was not to say that she had lost her natural kindness. Polly was conscious, as she had been when speaking to Lucille, of the sheltered nature of her own upbringing, in comparison to those who had had to make their own way in the world.

There were precious few similarities between the former actress and the current Countess of Sea grave, but one was that they had made their own luck, not been born with all the privileges like Polly had. Somehow it made her feel inadequate as well as fortunate.

Polly, returning to the turret bedroom she had used earlier, found the bed neatly turned down and a small fire burning in the grate. It looked warm and welcoming, but she could hear the thunder away out at sea and shivered. As soon as she was alone, all her nervousness had returned. On such a night it was all too easy to think of the miles of thick forest that cut them off from the town, the dense, secretive trees, the storm clouds harrying the moon.

The bright beauty of the day had gone and the stark loneliness of the place created an eerie atmosphere.

There was a door in the corner of the bedroom, which Polly a.s.sumed must be the turret stair. Feeling rather foolish, she went across and checked that it was locked. There was no key on her side of the door, but the door did not move at all when she turned the k.n.o.b.

Satisfied, she climbed into the downy bed, convinced she would not sleep a wink.

Surprisingly, she fell asleep almost at once, to wake in the middle of the night with a feeling of suffocating uneasiness. The fire had gone out and the wind was pounding the corner of the house, whistling through the cracks in the windowpane. Out on the landing, a floorboard creaked. Polly stiffened, listening for footsteps. A sliver of light appeared at the bottom of the door, flickered and went out. Another board creaked.

Polly slid out of bed and opened her door a crack. She was conscious of a need to establish normality, certain that she would see nothing more than a servant tiptoeing about his or her business whilst the rest of the house slept.

There was no one on the landing. Then she heard the voices.

"Not tonight, at any rate... Yes, certain... He was looking around earlier, but... No, no question of it. They will not risk coming in and the tide is already on the turn..."

Polly edged to the bannister and peeped over. The hall was lit with dim candlelight, deeply shadowed. Lord Henry March night was standing in the drawing- room doorway, brushing cobwebs from his clothes. He was fully dressed.

Lady Belling ham, in the centre of the hall, was clad in a dressing-gown of glossy, bright hue and formidable respectability.

Polly rejected her first reaction that this was an illicit lovers'

tryst; it was ridiculous to a.s.sume an affaire between them, even given her ladyship's preference for attractive young men. There was something too watchful in Henry's manner and too businesslike in Lady Belling ham's. The grandfather clock chimed one suddenly and Polly jumped. Henry, who had been turning to close the drawing room door, paused and his narrowed gaze scanned the landing.

Polly's heart was in her throat. Would he see her in the shadows of the pillar? And what would he do? What was his business, on such a stormy night? Suddenly she did not wish to know.

Lady Belling ham was yawning much in the manner of Horace the cat.

"I'm for bed, then," she announced, patting Henry on the arm.

"I am too old for all this excitement!"

Polly withdrew hastily to her room, closing the door softly as Lady Belling ham started up the stairs. She slid into bed, shivering a little.

Not a tryst then, so. what? A business transaction? But what could be so secret as to require so clandestine a meeting in the middle of the night?

And what was it that Henry had said? Polly stretched out in the warmth, still puzzling. She remembered seeing Henry poking about on the beach earlier in the day and his mention of a secret pa.s.sage linking the House of Tides to the sea. But. surely he was no smuggler, and what other purpose could he have for using such a route?

All Polly's previous suspicions came flooding back. He had been conveniently to hand to rescue them from the riot in London. Too conveniently, perhaps?

He had carried a pistol when he had apparently been returning home from a ball. He was a man who habitually concealed his sharpness of mind beneath a bland exterior. And now he was up and about on a stormy night by the sea.

But Polly's common sense was telling her that allegations of criminality were absurd, and something deeper told her fiercely that Henry was a man of integrity. Besides, there was Lady Belling ham's part in this. As smuggler's accomplice? The thought made Polly want to laugh.

She was just about to drift back into sleep when there was a tiny click and the door of Polly's room opened a crack. Through a gap in the bed curtains she saw the faint light increase as the door was pushed wider.

Someone was standing in the aperture, listening. Polly froze. She leant out of bed and groped quickly and silently for something, anything to defend herself with. Her hand closed around the edge of the chamber pot. Without conscious thought, she ripped the bed curtains back and swung her arm in a wide arc. The pot made contact with something, there was a m.u.f.fled gasp from the intruder, and Polly began to scream.

There was light and people everywhere, all of them talking at once.

Polly could see Hetty's frightened face and Miss Dit ton hovering behind her, avid and curious. Then Lady Belling ham came bustling forward in a monstrous bed cap and the vivid dressing- gown, and candlelight fell on the p.r.o.ne body of Mr Dit ton, lying on the rug just inside Polly's doorway, clutching his head and groaning.

"Dit ton!"

"Tristan!"

Peter Sea grave's exclamation and Miss Dit ton's screech of horror coincided.

His jaw set, Peter plucked the luckless Mr Dit ton off the floor and started to shake him.

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing in my sister's bedroom, you loathsome cur?"

Miss Dit ton began to cry noisily. Hetty rushed forward anxiously to ask if Polly was hurt. Polly sat down rather heavily on the edge of the bed, supported by Lady Belling ham's arm.

"I am quite well, I thank you, just a little shaken..."

Hetty was now trying to persuade Peter to let Tristan Dit ton go, whilst Thalia was clinging to her brother's arm and pulling him in an opposite direction from Peter. Polly felt they might almost pull him apart between them.

"Oh, please let him go--' she started to say, only to find that control of the situation had been grasped firmly by Lord Henry March night.

"A simple misunderstanding, I feel sure, Sea grave. I am persuaded that you would not wish to inflict any further injuries to Dit ton's person! Why, his elegant night attire is quite ruined, I fancy!"

No one except Polly seemed to find it odd that Lord Henry's major concern should be for Mr Dit ton's clothing, for they were all quite used to his preoccupation with sartorial matters. Dit ton, released from Peter's cruel grip, drew himself up and exclaimed that the state of his silk dressing-gown was truly disgraceful, but not so shocking as the state of his nerves after an unwarranted attack.

Henry's ironic gaze then fell on Polly, still clasped within Lady Belling ham's protective arm.

"Not really unwarranted, Dit ton," he drawled.

"Sea- grave did what any right-minded brother would do under the circ.u.mstances! Have you forgotten the agitation occasioned to Lady Polly at finding you in her room? An apology at least, dear fellow..."

Dit ton, recalled to the demands of good behaviour, gulped a little, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Dear Lady Polly... of course... such a terrible mistake. I was looking for the closet and became quite lost in the dark ... oh, dear, I am most abjectly sorry..."

"No harm done, eh, Dit ton?" Henry observed, mercifully putting an end to this miserable monologue. "Except perhaps, to your head!"

The tension began to dissolve. Miss Dit ton gulped noisily.

"Oh, Tristan, how could you be so foolish...?"

"Lady Polly... terrible mistake... abject apologies..." Mr Dit ton was still stuttering. He was still looking a little stunned from Peter's treatment, his thin, foxy face a sickly pale colour and his grey eyes darting fearfully.

He put a hand to his head.

"Excuse me... Must retire..."

He wandered off along the landing, silk dressing- gown napping, and Lady Belling ham started to shoo the others out of the room with a mixture of clucking and scolding.

"Come along, now! Back to your beds, all of you! Conchita!" She clapped her hands and the maid appeared apparently from nowhere, "Show these ladies back to their rooms! Good night!"