The girl was so sure she would get the job that she had

come to Westchester with her suitcase. She sat in the living

room of the Christiansens' house, looking, in her plain blue
coat and hat, even younger than her twenty-one years.
'Have you worked as a governess before?' Mr
Christiansen asked. He sat beside his wife on the sofa. 'Any
references, I mean?'
'I was a maid at Mr Dwight Howell's home in New
York for the last seven months.' Lucille looked at him with
suddenly wide gray eyes. 'I could get a reference from there
if you like... But when I saw your advertisement this
morning, I didn't want to wait. I've always wanted a place
where there are children.'
Mrs Christiansen smiled at the girl's enthusiasm, and
said, 'We might phone them, of course... What do you say,
Ronald? You wanted someone who really liked children...'
And fifteen minutes later Lucille Smith was standing in
her room in the servants' house, at the back of the big house,
putting on her new white uniform.
'You're starting again, Lucille,' she told herself in the
mirror. 'You're going to forget everything that happened
before.'
But her eyes grew too wide again, as though to deny
her words. They looked like her mother's when they opened
like that, and her mother was part of what she must forget.
There were only a few things to remember. A few silly
habits, like burning bits of paper in ashtrays, forgetting time
sometimes - little things that many people did, but that she

must remember not to do. With practice she would

remember, because she was just like other people (hadn't the
psychiatrist told her so?).
'She looked out at the garden and lawn that lay
between the servants' house and the big house. The garden
was longer than it was wide, and there was a fountain in the
center. It was a beautiful garden! And trees so high and close
together that Lucille could not see through them, and did not
have to admit or believe that there was another house
somewhere beyond . .. The Howell house in New York, tall
and heavily ornamented, looking like an old wedding cake in
a row of other old wedding cakes.
The Christiansen house was friendly, and alive! There
were children in it! Thank God for the children. But she had
not even met them yet.
She hurried downstairs and went across to the big
house. What had the Christiansens agreed to pay her? She
could not remember and did not care. She would have
worked for nothing just to live in such a place.
Mrs Christiansen took her upstairs to the nursery where
the children lay on the floor among colored pencils and
picture books.
'Nicky, Heloise, this is your new nurse,' their mother
said. 'Her name is Lucille.'
The little boy stood up and said, 'How do you do.'
'And Heloise,' Mrs Christiansen said, leading the
second child, who was smaller, to Lucille.
Heloise stared and said, 'How do you do.'

'Nicky is nine, and Heloise six.'

Lucille could not take her eyes from them. They were
the perfect children of her perfect house. They looked up at
her with eyes that were curious, trusting, loving.
Mrs Christiansen smoothed the little girl's hair with a
loving gentleness that fascinated Lucille. 'It's just about time
for their lunch,' she said. 'You'll have your meals up here,
Lucille. Lisabeth will be up with the lunch in a few minutes.'
She paused at the door. 'You aren't nervous about anything,
are you, Lucille?'
'Oh, no, madam.'
'Well, you mustn't be.' She seemed about to say
something else, but only smiled and went out.
Lucille stared after her, wondering what that something
else might have been.
'You're a lot prettier than Catherine,' Nicky told her.
'Catherine was our nurse before. She went back to Scotland.
We didn't like Catherine.'
'No,' said Heloise. 'We didn't like Catherine.'
Nicky stared at his sister. 'You shouldn't say that. That's
what I said!'
Lucille laughed. Then Nicky and Heloise laughed too.
A maid entered with lunch and put it on the table in the
center of the room. 'I'm Lisabeth Jenkins, miss,' she said
shyly.
'My name's Lucille Smith,' the girl said.

'If you need anything, just shout,' said the maid.

There were three omelets and some tomato soup.
Lucille's coffee was in a silver pot, and the children had two
large glasses of milk.
It was wonderful to be with these children. She had
always been clumsy at the Howell house, but here it would
not matter if she dropped a plate or a spoon. The children
would only laugh.
Lucille drank some of her coffee, but the cup slipped
and she spilled some of the coffee on the cloth.
'Piggy!' laughed Heloise.
'Heloise!' said Nicky, and went to fetch some paper
towels from the bathroom.
They cleaned up together.
'Dad always gives us a little of his coffee,' said Nicky,
as he sat down again.
Lucille had been wondering if the children would
mention her spilling the coffee to their mother. She sensed
that Nicky was offering her a bribe. 'Does he?' she asked.
'He pours a little in our milk,' Nicky went on.
'Like this?' Lucille poured a bit into each glass.
The children gasped with pleasure! 'Yes!'
'Catherine wouldn't give us any coffee, would she,
Heloise?' said Nicky.
'Not her!' Heloise took a long, delicious drink.

A happy feeling rose inside Lucille. The children liked

her, there was no doubt of that.
She remembered going to public parks in the city,
during the three years she had worked as a maid in different
houses, just to sit and watch the children play. But they had
usually been dirty and had used bad language. Once she had
seen a mother hit her own child across the face. Lucille
remembered how she had run away in pain and horror.
'Why do you have such big eyes?' Heloise demanded.
Lucille jumped. 'My mother had big eyes, too,' she said
deliberately, as if confessing.
Her mother had been dead three weeks now, but it
seemed much longer. That was because she was forgetting
all the hope of the last three years as she had waited for her
mother to recover. But recover to what? The illness was
something separate, something which had killed her mother.
It had been stupid to hope for her mother to become sane,
which she had never been. Even the doctors had told her
that. And they had told her other things, about herself. Good,
encouraging things; that she was as sane as her father had
been.
'You haven't finished eating,' said Nicky.
'I wasn't very hungry,' said Lucille.
'We could go out to the sand-box now,' he suggested. 'I
want you to see our castle.'
The sand-box was in the back corner of the house.
Lucille sat on the wooden edge of the box and watched
while the children built their sand-castle.

'I'm the young queen, and I'm a prisoner in the castle!'

Heloise shouted.
'Yes, and I'll rescue her, Lucille!' shouted Nicky.
When the castle was finished, Nicky put six small
colored stones just inside.
'These are the good soldiers,' he said.
'They're prisoners in the castle, too.' Heloise got more
small stones from the garden. She was to be the castle army
as well as the queen.
As the game continued, Lucille found herself wishing
for something really dangerous to happen to Heloise, so that
she could prove her great courage and loyalty. She would be
seriously wounded herself, perhaps with a bullet or a knife,
but she would beat off the attacker. Then the Christiansens
would love her and keep her with them always.
'O-o-ow!'
It was Heloise. Nicky had pushed one of her fingers
against the edge of the box as they struggled to get the same
small stone.
Lucille was alarmed at the sight of the blood, and was
wildly afraid that Lisabeth or Mrs Christiansen might see it.
She took Heloise to the bathroom next to the nursery, and
gently washed the finger. It was only a small scratch, and
Heloise soon stopped her tears.
'Look, it's only a little scratch!' Lucille said, but it was
said to calm the children. To Lucille it was not a little

scratch. It was a terrible disaster which she had failed to

prevent. And on her first afternoon!
Heloise smiled. 'Don't punish Nicky. He didn't mean to
do it.' And she ran from the bathroom and jumped on to her
bed. 'We have to have our afternoon sleep now,' she told
Lucille. 'Goodbye.'
'Goodbye,' Lucille answered, and tried to smile.
She went down to get Nicky, and when they came back
up Mrs Christiansen was at the nursery door.
Lucille's face went white. 'I don't think it's bad,
madam. It - it's a scratch from the sand-box.'
'Heloise's finger? Oh, don't worry, my dear. They're
always getting little scratches. Nicky, dear, you must learn to
be more gentle. Look how you frightened Lucille!' She
laughed and ruffled his hair.
While the children slept, Lucille looked at one of their
story books. The hospital doctor had encouraged her
reading, she remembered, and had told her to go to the
cinema, too. 'Be with normal people and forget all about
your mother's difficulties...'
And the psychiatrist had said, 'There's no reason why
you should not be as normal as your father was. Get a job
outside the city - relax, enjoy life. Forget even the house
your family lived in. After a year...'
That, too, was three weeks ago, just after her mother
had died. And what the doctor had said was true. In this
house, where there was peace and love, beauty and children,
she would forget for ever her mother's face.

With a little gasp of joy, she pressed her face into the
pages of the story book, her eyes half closed. Slowly she
rocked backwards and forwards in the chair, conscious of
nothing but her own happiness.
'What are you doing?' Nicky asked, politely curious.
Lucille brought the book down from her face. She
smiled like a happy but guilty child. 'Reading!' she laughed.
Nicky laughed too. 'You read veiy close!'
'Ye-es,' said Heloise, who had also sat up.
Nicky came over and looked at the book. 'We get up at
three o'clock. Would you read to us now? Catherine always
read to us until dinner.'
Lucille sat down on the floor so they could see the
pictures as she read. She read for two hours, and the time
slipped by. Just after five, Lisabeth brought their dinner, and
when the meal was over Nicky and Heloise demanded more
reading until bedtime. Lucille gladly began another book,
but Lisabeth came to say that it was time for the children's
bath, and that Mrs Christiansen would be up to say good
night in a little while.
When the children were in bed, Lucille went
downstairs with Mrs Christiansen.
'Is everything all right, Lucille?'
'Yes, madam. Except. . . can I come up once in the
night to see that the children are all right?'
'That's a very kind thought, Lucille, but it really isn't
necessary.'

Lucille was silent.

'I'm afraid the evenings are going to seem long to you.
If you ever want to go the cinema in town, Alfred, that's the
chauffeur, will be glad to take you in the car.'
'Thank you, madam.'
'Then good night, Lucille.'
Lucille went out the back way and across the garden.
When she opened her door, she wished it was the nursery
door; that it was morning and time to begin another day.
How good, she thought as she turned out the light, to
feel pleasantly tired (although it was only nine o'clock)
instead of being unable to sleep because of thinking about
her mother or worrying about herself. She remembered one
day not so long ago when for fifteen minutes she had been
unable to think of her name. She had run in fear to the
doctor.
That was past! She might even ask Alfred to buy her
some cigarettes - a luxury she had denied herself for months.
The second day was like the first - except that there
was no scratched hand - and so was the third and the fourth.
The only thing that changed was Lucille's love for the
family. A love which grew greater each day.
Saturday evening she found an envelope addressed to
herself at the servants' house. Inside was $20.
It meant nothing to her. To use it she would have to go
to the shops where other people were. What use had she for
money if she was never to leave the Christiansen home? In a

year's time she would have $1040, and in two years $2080.
Eventually she would have as much as the Christiansens,
and that would not be right.
Would they think it was very strange if she asked to
work for nothing? Or for $10 perhaps?
She went to see Mrs Christiansen the next morning.
'It's about my pay, madam,' she said. 'It's too much for
me.'
Mrs Christiansen looked surprised. 'You are a funny
girl, Lucille! You want to be with the children day and night.
You're always talking about doing something "important" for
us. And now your pay is too much!' She laughed. 'You're
certainly different, Lucille!'
Lucille was listening closely. 'How do you mean
different, madam?'
'I've just told you, my dear. And I refuse to pay you
less because that would be treating you badly. In fact, if you
ever want more-'
'Oh, no, madam! But I wish there was something more
I could do for you, and the children. Something bigger-'
'Nonsense, Lucille,' Mrs Christiansen interrupted. 'Mr
Christiansen and I are both very pleased with you.'
'Thank you, madam.'
Lucille went back to the nursery where the children
were playing. Mrs Christiansen did not understand. If she
could just explain about her mother, and her fear of herself
for so many months, how she had never dared take even a

cigarette, and how just being with the family in this beautiful
house had made her well again . ..
That night she sat in her room with the light on until
after twelve o'clock. She had her cigarettes now, and allowed
herself just three in the evening, but even these were enough
to relax her mind, to make her dream of being a heroine.
And when the three cigarettes were smoked and she would
have liked another, she put them in her top drawer so that
they could not tempt her.
She noticed the $20 bill the Christiansens had given
her. She took a match and lit it, and put the burning end
down against the side of her ashtray. Slowly she lit the rest
of the matches, one after another, and made a tiny, well
controlled fire. When all the matches were burnt, she tore
the $20 bill into bits and added these to the fire.
Mrs Christiansen did not understand, but if she saw
this, she might. But this was not enough. Just loyal service
was not enough either. Anyone would give that, for money.
She was different. Mrs Christiansen had said that. Lucille
remembered what else Mrs Christiansen had said: 'Mr
Christiansen and I are both very pleased with you.' Lucille
smiled at the memory. She felt wonderfully strong and
happy. Only one thing was lacking in her happiness. She had
to prove herself in a crisis.
She moved nervously around the room.
If only there were a flood ... She imagined the water
coming higher and higher around the house, until it almost
rushed into the nursery. She would rescue the children and
swim with them to safety.

Or if there were an earthquake ... She would rush in

among falling walls and pull the children out. Perhaps she
would go back for some small thing - one of Nicky's toys and be killed! Then the Christiansens would know how
much she loved them.
Of if there were a fire... Fires were common things.
There might be a terrible fire just from the gasoline that was
in the garage . ..
She went downstairs, through the door that opened into
the garage. The gasoline tank was three feet high and
completely full. Despite its weight, she got it out of the
garage and rolled it across the garden, making no noise on
the grass. The windows were dark, but even if there had
been lights Lucille would not have stopped. Nor if Mr
Christiansen himself had been standing by the fountain,
because probably she would not have seen him.
She poured some gasoline on a corner of the house,
rolled the tank further, and poured some more. She went on
like this until she reached the far corner. Then she lit a match
and walked back the way she had come, touching it against
the wet places. Without looking back, she went to stand by
the door of the servants' house to watch.
At first the flames were pale and eager, then they
became yellow with bits of red. Lucille began to relax. She
would let the flames grow tall, even to the nursery window,
before she rushed in, so that the danger would be at its
highest.

A smile came to her mouth, and her face was bright in

the light of the fire. Anyone seeing her there would certainly
have thought her a beautiful young woman.
She had lit the fire at five places, and now it was
creeping up the house like the fingers of a hand, warm and
gentle. Lucille smiled, but made herself wait.
Suddenly the gasoline tank, having grown too warm,
exploded with a sound like a huge gun and lit up the whole
garden for an instant.
As though this was the sign for which she had been
waiting, Lucille went confidently forward.