The Landower Legacy

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It was at the time of the Queen’s Golden Jubilee when events took a dramatic turn and changed the entire course of my life. I was only fourteen years old at the time and although those momentous occurrences were taking place around me—and I myself played a part in them—I was not aware of their importance until much later. It was as though I looked through a misty glass; I saw them, but I did not understand their significance.

To the casual observer, ours would have seemed to be a very fortunate household. But how often are things what they seem? We were what is called “well-to-do.” Our London residence was in one of the fashionable squares not far from Hyde Park; our comforts were presided over by Wilkinson, the butler, and Mrs. Winch, the housekeeper, between whom there was a perpetual state of armed neutrality, as each was very anxious to maintain superiority over the other. In the early hours of the morning, before members of the family left their beds, the lower echelons of the domestic staff scuttled about, removing the remains of the previous day’s fires in all the grates, polishing, dusting, getting the hot water, so that when we arose, as if by magic, all we needed was waiting for us. They all knew that my father was most displeased if any of them made their presence known, and the sight of a cap and apron scuttling away could mean the dismissal of their possessor. Everyone in the household dreaded his displeasure—even my mother.

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