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‘That will be your very own room,’ said Thomasina watching Maud unpack her parcels and smiling indulgently. ‘And next week we’ll see about a new piano.’

So really, being prodded and licked a few times each night (and some mornings), was quite a modest price to pay for such bounty. Maud thought that surely to goodness she could learn to put up with it.

Apart from the inevitability of ‘It’, Maud’s days at Quire were filled with good things. Sketching in the park where you could make the trees appear to have faces–‘How very macabre,’ Thomasina said when she saw them–and mastering new piano pieces. She was trying to move away from the delicate filigree sounds of Chopin and Debussy, to more ambitious works: Mozart, Beethoven, Paganini.

‘That’s a bit gloomy,’ said Thomasina, listening to Maud playing Schumann’s piano arrangement of one of Paganini’s Caprices. ‘What’s it supposed to represent?’

Maud had already realized that Thomasina, so kind and generous, had absolutely no glimmering of the intriguing darknesses you could find inside music, or the way it had a voice that told you things you had not known. But she tried to explain about Paganini, who had composed beautiful eerie music, and had been such a virtuoso on the violin that at one time he had even been suspected of being in league with the devil.

‘I’m not surprised after hearing that,’ said Thomasina caustically.

And then, on the very evening of Thomasina’s meeting at Latchkill, while they were having dinner, came the bolt from the blue.

Thomasina said she wanted Maud to have a child.

At first Maud stared at Thomasina in bewilderment, because although she had only the sketchiest idea of how babies were born, she did know that a man had to be involved.

But Thomasina said what a lovely thing it would be–a little baby of their very own to look after and bring up. It would mean that Thomasina would have an heir (or heiress) for Quire House and the farms and cottages. This was not the main reason of course, but it was something to consider.

Maud listened to all this, and then nervously broached the question of the man, to which Thomasina replied quite casually that there would have to be a man, of course, but that was nothing to worry about. These things could be very easily arranged; she would see to it all, and would tell Maud what had to be done.





CHAPTER SEVEN




Thomasina Forrester was not much given to introspection–life was too busy for that–but during these last few weeks she had several times paused to wonder how it was that something could slyly trickle into your mind and end in almost taking possession of you.

A child. That was the idea that had come from nowhere and had gradually come to occupy her mind so overwhelmingly. A child who could be brought up in all Quire’s traditions, and who would one day inherit the place and carry those traditions forward into the twentieth century. People said it was wrong to become too attached to buildings and old customs, that these things did not matter, but they mattered to Thomasina because she had been brought up believing in them. She loved Quire with a fierce possessiveness. She would like to think of it going on and on, lived in by people who appreciated and cared for it, and she would like to think of herself going on and on as well: a local institution, about whom people smiled and said, ‘Ah, Miss Forrester. She represents Quire and everything it stands for. She is Quire.’

Thomasina found this image very satisfactory. It was her forthcoming birthday–her fortieth, such a watershed for a female–that had set her thinking about Quire’s future, and what would happen to it when she died. She was prepared to give death a good run for its money, but even so…


In the early days of her infatuation with Maud she had wondered about leaving the place to her, but she could see now that she must have been besotted to the point of madness even to consider it, because Maud would never cope. She could never control reprobates like Cormac Sullivan, or keep that furtive old lecher, Reverend Skandry in check, or play a useful part in the administering of the Forrester Benevolent Trust, or fight against the impractical idealism of Daniel Glass. Maud would not, in fact, be able to cope with any of the things Thomasina coped with as a matter of course.

And there was something else Thomasina was becoming increasingly aware of. Maud seemed to have what Thomasina thought of as pockets of darkness within her mind. Only last week she had found a sketch at the back of Maud’s wardrobe–purely by accident, of course, she was not one to pry–but really a rather dreadful drawing of a fearsome-looking woman with sly eyes. Thomasina had found the sketch macabre, although it had been difficult to say exactly why. Something about the mouth, was it? Yes, there was something very unsettling about the mouth: it had a greedy, wet look to it. Very unpleasant. In the end, she had replaced the sketch carefully so Maud would not know she had found it, but had resolved to search Maud’s things regularly.

There was no reason for Maud to succumb to these dark moods, and what she had to be macabre about, Thomasina did not know. The child wanted for nothing: she had a beautiful house to live in and a devoted lover and friend to share her bed. The pity was that innocent unworldly Maud did not know just how adroit and practised a lover she did have. Thomasina could have named half a dozen females who would not have been a quarter as skilful as she was with Maud!

But as is so often the way with these matters, Maud’s very prudishness made her even more alluring. That reluctance, that air of not really liking being made love to, of having to be seduced every time was irresistible. A challenge. Thomasina had the feeling that if Maud were suddenly to become eager, she might lose all interest. But for the moment…for the moment it drove her wild, and she could hardly keep her hands off the child.