Free Snare of Serpents by Victoria Holt

feelings.
    One afternoon my father arrived home early and very soon afterwards Miss Grey came to my room.
    She said: “Your father wants you to go to his study. He has something to say to you.”
    I looked surprised. I fancied he had been avoiding me lately. When we dined he seemed determined not to meet my eyes, but as he rarely addressed a remark to me it was not really necessary to do so.
    She came with me to the study and shut the door behind us.
    My father was standing leaning against his desk. She went and stood beside him.
    “Sit down, Davina,” he said. “I want to tell you that Miss Grey has promised to become my wife.”
    I stared at them both in astonishment.
    Miss Grey came to me and kissed me.
    “Dear Davina,” she said. “We have always got on so well. It is going to be wonderful.” She turned to my father. “Wonderful for us all,” she added.
    She held out her hand and he took it. He was looking at me rather anxiously I thought.
    “The wedding will not take place for another three months,” said my father. “We must wait the full year … and a little more, I think.”
    I wanted to laugh at him. I wanted to cry out: “But you did not wait. This is a pretence. It’s all a pretence. There is sham everywhere.”
    But “I see” was all I could manage to say.
    “I am sure,” he went on, “that you will realise this is the best thing possible. You need a mother.”
    And I thought, you need someone … as Hamish did.
    It was disturbing how I heard myself speaking inwardly … saying things which I would never have dared say aloud, things which I would never have believed possible a year ago.
    How I hated them standing there, pretending … both of them. But I hated him more than I did her.
    “There will be a wedding,” I heard myself say stupidly; and that other voice within me said, of course there will be a wedding. A quiet one … all very right and proper … just as it should be … and no one will know.
    “A quiet one naturally,” said my father.
    “Naturally,” I repeated and wondered whether they noticed the sarcasm.
    “Are you going to congratulate us?” asked Miss Grey archly.
    I did not answer.
    “It is something of a surprise, I have no doubt,” said my father. “But it will be the best thing possible … for us all. You will have a mother …”
    I looked at Zillah Grey. She grimaced and somehow I liked her for that. She was not the hypocrite he was, whatever else she might be; and I think at that time it was the hypocrisy which was the greatest sin in my eyes.
    “Well then,” said my father. “I want us to drink to the future.”
    He opened a cupboard and took out three glasses and a bottle of champagne.
    There was a little for me, less than half a glass. I kept thinking of Miss Grey lying on her bed singing “Mary Queen of Scots”; and I began to laugh.
    My father smiled quite benignly, not understanding. When had he ever? I asked myself. But I think Miss Grey was aware of my feelings.
    A T FIRST the news was received with dismay throughout the household, but after a few days they all seemed to accept it.
    Mrs. Kirkwell had a little talk with me.
    She said: “A lot has happened in this house lately, Miss Davina. Mr. Kirkwell and I were beginning to look on you as the mistress of the house. Of course, you are young as yet. We had thought that Mr. Glentyre might marry again, but we hadn’t thought it would be so soon.”
    “It will be a year since my mother died when they marry.”
    “Oh yes. Well, they couldna very well do it before. That wouldn’t have been right and Mr. Glentyre, he’s one who’ll always do what’s right. It’s soon … but it will be the full year. And we shall have a new lady of the house.” Mrs. Kirkwell wrinkled her brows. I knew she was thinking that it would be difficult to imagine Zillah Grey as the mistress of a staid Edinburgh residence.
    “There’ll be changes,” she went on. “I’m sure of that. Well, we must take them as