DECEMBER DAYS

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    Obeying Dr. Clifton’s instrus, I spent two days in bed, eating and sleeping and reading Sherloes. I fess I overdosed on my prescribed treatment, gulping dowory after another. Before the end of the sed day Judith had been down to the library ached another volume of  Doyle for me. She had grown suddenly kind toward me since my collapse. It was not the fact that she was sorry for me that altered her—though she was sorry— but the fact that now Emmeline’s presence was no longer a secret in the house, she was at liberty to let her natural sympathies govern her exges with me, instead of maintaining a stantly guarded facade.

    ‘And has she never said anything about the thirteenth tale?“ she asked me wistfully one day.

    ‘Not a word. And to you?“

    She shook her head. “Never. It’s strange, isn’t it, after all she’s written, that the most famous story of all is ohat might not eve, just think, she could probably publish a book with all the stories missing and it would still sell like hotcakes.” And then, with a shake of the lead to clear her thoughts, and a one, “So what do you make of Dr. Clifton, then?”

    When Dr. Clifton dropped by to see how I was doing, his eye alighted on the volumes by my bedside; he said nothing but his nostrils twitched.

    Ohird day, feeling as frail as a newborn, I got up. As I pulled the curtains apart, my room was flooded with a fresh,  light. Outside, a brilliant, cloudless blue stretched from horizon to horizon, ah it the garden sparkled with frost. It was as if during those long overcast days the light had been accumulating behind the cloud, and now that the cloud was gohere was nothing to stop it flooding down, dreng us in a fht’s worth of illumination at once. Blinking in the brilliance, I felt something like life begin to move sluggishly in my veins.

    Before breakfast I went outdoors. Slowly and cautiously I stepped around the lawn with Shadow at my heels. It was crisp underfoot, and everywhere the sun sparkled on icy foliage. The frost-rimed grass held the imprint of my soles, but at my side Shadow stepped like a dainty ghost, leaving no prints. At first the cold, dry air was like a knife in my throat, but little by little it rejuvenated me, and I rejoiced in the exhilaratioheless, a few minutes were enough; cheeks tingling, pink-fingered and with ag toes, I was glad to e ba and Shadow was glad to follow. First breakfast, then the library sofa, the blazing fire, and something to read.

    I could judge how much better I was by the fact that my thoughts turned not to the treasures of Miss Winter’s library, but to her own story. Upstairs I retrieved my pile of paper, ed sihe day of my collapse, and brought it back to the warmth of the hearth where, with Shadow by my side, I spent the best part of the daylight hours ?９９ｌｉｂ?reading. I read and I read and I read, disc the story all ain, reminding myself of its puzzles, mysteries as. But there were no revelations. At the end of it all I was as baffled as I had been before I started. Had someoampered with John-the-dig’s ladder? But who? And what was it that Hester had seen whehought she saw a ghost? And, more inexplicable than all the rest, how had Adelihat violent vagabond of a child, uo unicate with a her slow-witted sister and capable of heartbreaking acts of horticultural destru, developed into Miss Wihe self-disciplined author of dozens of best-selling novels and, furthermore, maker of an exquisite garden?

    I pushed my pile of papers to one side, stroked Shadow and stared into the fire, longing for the fort of a story where everything had been planned well in advance, where the fusion of the middle was ied only for my enjoyment, and where I could measure how far away the solution was by feeling the thiess of pages still to e. I had no idea hoages it would take to plete the story of Emmeline and Adeline, nor eveher there would be time to plete it.

    Despite my absorption in my notes, I couldn’t help w why I hadn’t seen Miss Winter. Each time I asked after her Judith gave me the same reply: She is with Miss Emmeline. Until evening, when she came with a message from Miss Winter herself: Was I feeling well enough to read to her for a while before supper?

    When I went to her I found a book—Lady Audley’s Secret—oable by Miss Winter’s side. I ope at the bookmark and read. But I had read only a chapter when I stopped, sensing that she wao talk tome.

    ‘What did happen that night?“ Miss Winter asked. ”The night you fell ill?“

    I was nervously glad to have an opportunity for explanation. “I already knew Emmeline w<big>?</big>as in the house. I had heard her at night. I had seen her in the garden. I found her rooms. Then on that particular night I brought someoo see her. Emmeline was startled. The last thing I intended was thten her. But she was taken by surprise when she saw us, and—” My voice caught in my throat.

    ‘This is not your fault, you know. Don’t alarm yourself. The wailing and the nervous collapse—it is something I and Judith and the doctor have seen many times before. If anyone is to blame, it is me, for not letting you know soohat she was here. I have a tendency to be over-protective. I was foolish not to tell you.“ She paused. ”Do you io tell me whom it was yht with you?“

    ‘Emmeline had a baby,“ I said. ”That’s the person who came with me. The man in the brown suit.“ And after I’d told what I khe questions I didn’t know the ao came rushing to my lips, as though my own frankness might ence her to be did iurn. ”What is it Emmeline was looking for in the garden? She was trying to dig something up when I saw her there. She ofte: Maurice says it’s the work of foxes, but I know that is not the truth.“

    Miss Winter was silent and very still.

    “The dead go underground,” I quoted. “That’s what she told me. Who does she think is buried? Is it her child? Hester? Who is she looking for underground?”

    Miss Witered a murmur, and though it was faint, it instantly awakehe lost memory of the hoarse pronou lau me by Emmeline in the garden. The very words! “Is that it?” added Miss Winter. “Is that what she said?”

    I nodded.

    ‘In twin language?“

    I nodded again.

    Miss Winter looked at me with i. “You are doing very well, Margaret. Better than I thought. The trouble is, the timing of this story is getting rather out of hand. We are getting ahead of ourselves.” She paused, starin<tt></tt>g into her palm, then looked straight at me. “I said I meant to tell you the truth, Margaret. And I do. But before I  tell you, something must happen first. It is going to happen. But it has not happened yet.”

    ‘What—?“

    But before I could finish my question, she shook her head. “Let us return to Lady Audley and her secret, shall we?”

    I read for another half hour or so, but my mind was not oory, and I had the impression Miss Winter’s attention was wandering, too. When Judith tapped at the door at suppertime, I closed the book and put it to one side, and as if there had been no interruption, as if it were a tinuation of the discussion we had been having before, Miss Winter said, “If you are not too tired, why don’t you e and see Emmelihis evening?”

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