“It is a birthday little girl!” said Kitty, all tears gone, full of smiles.

“A wicked one,” said Therese, ‘to spoil her mamma’s beauty sleep!”

“Ah, but it was sweet of her to come, Carolan, my darling, come again, and we will talk often of … you know what. It is our secret, and we will talk together of it.”

Carolan nodded. What a wonderful birthday morning! She had come, hoping for a present, and had discovered a secret. But then, were not secrets as amusing and exciting as presents?

“I will come,” she said.

“And now.” said Therese, lifting her from the bed, ‘you will go, yes?”

She ran to the door, looking back once to smile at her mother, and the look that passed between them was an acknowledgement of a secret shared.

She ran along to the nursery, where Margaret and Charles were already having their bread and milk. Charles stared down into his plate, eating hurriedly. He always ate hurriedly in the nursery. He was fifteen, and going away to school shortly; he thought eating in the nursery was beneath his dignity. Margaret was looking excitedly at the parcel she had put by Carolan’s place. Jennifer sat at the head of the table.

“Ah!” said Jennifer.

“And where have you been, Miss? I have been to your room once for you!”

That,” said Carolan, ‘is no business of yours, Jennifer!”

“Come here!” said Jennifer.

Carolan tossed her head and went to her place at the table.

“I’ll tan the hide off you after breakfast!” said Jennifer. She always felt ill in the morning too tired to put any energy into whipping the child.

“Perhaps!” said Carolan.

“No perhaps about it. Miss!”

Charles looked up, interested, as though he hoped Jennifer would begin now.

Carolan said boldly: “You could not tan the hide off anybody, Jennifer Jay. You are not much good at tanning; you are getting old!”

Jennifer stood up. Charles put out his foot, so that if Carolan tried to run she would have difficulty in getting past it. Carolan, feeling concerned, shouted in bravado: “You are getting old, Jennifer Jay! In the kitchen they say you are getting too old. Jennifer Jay!”

It was worth any whipping, to see the colour run out of Jennifer’s face.

“Yes!” said Jennifer.

“It is to be expected; you would talk to those sluts in the kitchen, you! That is your place down there with them. I can tell you what will happen to you, Miss Carolan.”

“What?” said Carolan. who really wanted to know.

“You will end up on a gibbet, or in Botany Bay!”

Margaret was looking at Carolan in shocked wonder. Charles was laughing his agreement. Carolan quailed; there were those who said that Jennifer Jay was almost a witch.

“No!” cried Carolan, feeling rather frightened.

“It is you who will end up on a gibbet, Jennifer Jay!”

Charles put his face close to Carolan’s.

“Do not forget it is a birthday, young Carolan!”

“I do not forget. I am nine today! Yesterday I was eight. Today I am nine!”

“Nine is not much to be!” said Margaret.

“But here is a present for you, Carolan. From me to you. A happy birthday! See. I have written it on the paper there.

“A happy birthday from Margaret to Carolan”.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” Carolan hunched her shoulders with delight.

Margaret said impatiently: “Open it! Open it!” And, fingers trembling with excitement, Carolan opened it. Inside the packet was a book-mark in silk, with flowers embroidered on it, and “Carolan Haredon, April 19, 1793’ worked in red and blue. One of Carolan’s great gifts was to be able to disperse elaborate expectation and find complete joy in the reality. She forgot the saddle she had dreamed that Margaret would give her; now she was completely absorbed in the beauty of the book-mark.

“Margaret, it is lovely!”

“You do like it?” cried Margaret eagerly.

“I did those flowers my self I’ “They are beautiful.”

“There are a few bad stitches in the red ones,” said Margaret modestly.

“I cannot see them!” Carolan warmly assured her, and they smiled shyly at each other.

Charles said: “Here! Margaret’s not the only one who’s got a present for you, baby.” Carolan stared incredulously at Charles, for from his pocket he took a brown paper packet.

“Oh … Charles! Thank you.”

“Happy birthday!” said Charles.

“Thank you! Thank you!” Carolan smiled at him very sweetly. She felt ashamed that she hated him when she came into the room. She took the package; it was soft. There was no sound in the nursery but the crackling of paper. Beneath the first wrapping was a second one.

“Go on!” said Charles.

“You are slow.”

“I wonder what it is,” said Margaret.

“Charles, you did not tell me… though I told you the book-mark was for Carolan!”

“Oh,” cried Charles, ‘she will love this better than your silly book-mark. She will take it to bed; she will keep it under her pillow; she will carry it wherever she goes. She will love it so much.”

“Margaret,” said Carolan, ‘the book-mark is lovely.” And she thought: What would I take to bed with me? What would I keep under my pillow? What would I carry wherever I went?

What a successful birthday, with even Charles remembering it!

The parcel was open. Carolan squealed, and dropped it; her face was ashen. Lying in the paper was a tiny shrew mouse which had been dead some days.

Jennifer began to laugh shrilly.

“She will take it to bed with her! She will keep it under her pillow! She will carry it wherever she goes!”

Carolan raised her eyes and looked at Charles looked at him with such utter loathing that momentarily his laughter was quelled.

Margaret said: “That was beastly … to pretend it was a present!”

“Be silent!” said Charles.

“Bah!” said Jennifer.

“You cannot see a joke. Look at the little Greedy Guts! Ready to burst into tears, I do declare.”

Carolan hated death; she ran from death. If she saw a funeral in the village, with all its black trappings and the mourners all covered in black, she could not sleep that night, and when she did, her sleep was disturbed by frightful dreams. Birds, animals, people … when they were dead they changed subtly; they were not birds, animals, people any more. She could never be happy, thinking of death. And here, on her birthday, was death presented to her in the shape of the small limp body of a shrew mouse.

But the fun had only just begun for Charles.

“So you would throw my present on the floor, would you? You ungrateful little beast! Pick it up… Pick it up, I say! Do you not love its soft silky body? Stroke it, baby. Its name is Carrie -named after its new mistress, you see. Pick it up, I say. Kiss it!”

“I will not touch it,” said Carolan.

He caught Carolan in his strong arms; she began to kick.

“Nine years old, she is!” he said, looking at her derisively.

“One would think it was nine months!” He narrowed his eyes.

“Carolan, are you going to pick up my nice present? Are you going to carry it in your pocket, take it to bed with you, my child?”

“No,” cried Carolan.

“No!”

Margaret looked unhappy. She hated to see Carolan tormented; but what could she do about it? She was not yet thirteen herself, so what could she do against Charles and Jennifer?

Charles gravely put Carolan down; his brown eyes that were flecked with yellow were the cruellest eyes in the world, thought Carolan, and when they blazed in anger they were not so cruel as they were when they laughed in this quiet way.

He picked up the mouse by its tail; then he caught Carolan.

Carolan shut her eyes tightly that she might not look into Ms face.

“Open your eyes,” said Charles.

“I will not.”

“You will,” said Charles.

“Do you think I bring you presents that you may haughtily shut your eyes and not look at them?”

“I hate you!” sobbed Carolan.