Agnes had run away with her Dutch Missionary and even her elder sister had thought it regrettable and decided that in future, as they had nothing in common, there would be little point in keeping in close touch with each other.
Only as she grew up had Roxana become intrigued with the idea of her aunt living in Holland, cut off from the world she had known as a girl, but apparently with no regrets.
The family heard from Agnes Helderik at Christmas and on their birthdays, but Roxana suspected that, while her aunt wrote to her sister, her mother was usually too indifferent or too lazy to reply.
When Roxana realised that she must leave her home and go off somewhere, anywhere, to get away from the unfortunate atmosphere that she found it impossible to live in, she had thought of her aunt.
Only one year after Lord Barclay’s death Roxana’s mother had decided to marry again.
It was understandable that she should wish to do so.
At forty she was still a very attractive woman and she had spent the last six years of her life nursing a senile old man who seldom opened his mouth except to complain.
Fortunately they were rich enough to be able to afford nurses, but even so their whole way of life had been restricted and in a way unpleasant.
The moment one entered the front door it was impossible not to be aware that its owner was dying and taking ‘an unconscionable time’ about it.
Roxana had been extremely sorry for her mother. At the same time she found it hard not to be shocked that her mother welcomed flirtatiously any man who was prepared to pay her court.
When finally she told her daughter that she was to marry again, Roxana had waited for the blow to fall and had known even before her mother said who her future husband was to be that it meant she must go away.
“Not Patrick Grenton, Mama!” she had exclaimed involuntarily.
“Why not?” Lady Barclay asked coldly. “You know just as well as I do that he has been devoted to me for a long time and I am sure that we shall be very happy together.”
With difficulty Roxana bit back the protest that came to her lips.
How could she explain to her mother that, while Patrick Grenton had been calling on Lady Barclay and flattering her with his attentions, he had also been pursuing her daughter?
She had disliked Patrick Grenton from the first moment she had seen him.
A hard-riding, hard-drinking country Squire, he had followed her out hunting, keeping away other men who would wish to ride by her side.
In the summer he always managed to turn up unexpectedly in the woods or anywhere else when she happened to be walking or riding alone.
It was some time before she became aware that Patrick Grenton was playing a double game.
Then the manner in which her mother welcomed him to the house when he called, the trouble she took over her appearance and the coy way she spoke to him revealed the truth.
It was not difficult for Roxana to realise that, while she attracted Patrick Grenton as a woman, the wealthy Lady Barclay was more alluring as a wife.
The mere idea that he could be so two-faced made Roxana feel sick.
Patrick was five years younger than her mother, but that did not count beside the fact that he was well known to be always hard up.
Once they were married her mother would be able to provide him with the new hunters he needed and all the comforts which, owing to the raffish way he lived, he was unable to afford.
‘I must get away!’ Roxana told herself. ‘I just cannot live in the house with Mama and Patrick Grenton!’
The idea of his being her stepfather was bad enough but she still had the uncomfortable feeling that, even when he was married to her mother, he would still seek her out and still pursue her as he had done before.
It was, however, difficult to know where she could go.
She had many friends, but then she could hardly stay with any of them indefinitely. And she did not wish to make her mother feel uncomfortable by deliberately asking her cousins or her father’s relatives if she could make her home with them.
It seemed like an inspiration when the idea came to her that she should contact her aunt in Holland.
After all everyone would understand that she should wish to go away when her mother married and what more plausible explanation could she give than that she had been invited to stay with her mother’s sister?
Without mentioning this idea to anybody, Roxana had sat down and written to Agnes Helderik, asking her if she could come to Holland and saying how she longed to make her acquaintance.
The letter that had come in response had been enthusiastically welcoming and, although her mother had been astonished, Roxana had left England as soon as the very quiet Wedding between Lady Barclay and Patrick Grenton had taken place.
Patrick Grenton had objected more strongly than his wife.
“Why on earth do you want to go away?” he had asked angrily when he had learned of Roxana’s plans. “I want you here! I want to see you and talk to you.”
“I have no wish to play gooseberry to you and Mama,” Roxana had answered him.
He had looked at her and she disliked the expression in his eyes.
“You know it is not like that,” he said.
“I know what it is like and I don’t wish to discuss it,” Roxana replied coldly.
“Suppose I refuse to let you go?”
“You cannot prevent me.”
“Are you sure about that? After all as your stepfather I am also your Guardian.”
“I have every intention of leaving this house as soon as you and Mama are married and I advise you not to make a fuss!”
Roxana spoke in a manner which brought more anger into his eyes and his lips tightened.
“If that is to be your attitude about the future,” he insisted, “then sooner or later I will make you regret it.”
She did not bother to answer him. She only looked at him with contempt, but when she left the room she had heard him swearing in a manner that made her shiver.
However she found her aunt, Roxana was determined to like her and stay with her for as long as possible. Holland was at least a refuge from Patrick Grenton.
Actually she had loved Mrs. Helderik from the first moment she met her and her aunt had loved her.
She was, Roxana thought, exactly what she would have wished her mother to be like but Lady Barclay had grown hard during the frustrating years of her late husband’s incurable illness.
Lady Barclay had at first, despite the disparity in their ages, been very happy.
Lord Barclay had been an extremely intelligent man who had given distinguished service to the Crown and was greatly respected in Political circles.
But when he became ill he was like an oak that had been struck by lightning.
If only he could have died after the first ten years of marriage, it would have been easy for everyone to mourn him in genuine sorrow.
Instead he had lingered on and, through no real fault of his own, had gradually lost his friends and the love of his wife and daughter.
It had been wrong, Roxana knew, to be glad when someone died and yet ,when wearing the deepest black, she had followed her father’s coffin to the graveside, she had known that the trappings were only a farce.
It was a relief that after so long he was freed of his tortured body, but Roxana had cried at her aunt’s death as she had never been able to do for her