A wary look came into Mrs. Pengelly's eyes and I was reminded forcibly of her son. I realized that even if she knew something about Silva's strange disappearance she was not going to tell me and in any case I was obsessed at the moment by the thought of finding Fenwick.

"I'll have one of the horses and go to Fallerton," I said. "What was the name of his house, do you remember?"

"I can't tell 'ee that, Miss Ellen, but Fallerton be naught but a village. If you get there and ask, someone will be bound to know."

As I was about to leave the inn, Michael Hydrock rode in.

"Hello, Miss Kellaway, what a pleasant surprise!" he said.

"I'm just off to Fallerton," I told him.

"Fallerton! That's on my way. I'll come with you."

"I thought you were going into the inn."

"Just for a little refreshment, which I can well do without."

"Please don't let me interrupt your morning."

"My dear Miss Kellaway," he said with a smile, "even if it were an interruption there couldn't be a more pleasant one."

He had turned his horse and walked him up to mine.

"I know a shortcut to Fallerton," he said. "I'll be able to show you."

It would have been churlish not to accept his company, which, had it not been for those unfortunate scenes with Gwennol and Jenifry, I should have been very happy to do. Well, they would both be on the Island today, so I could give myself up to the pleasure of Michael's company.

"Where do you want to go in Fallerton?" he asked. "It's only a small village."

"So I heard. I want to find a Mr. Fenwick."

"Fenwick.... There was a Fenwick who worked at the castle at one time."

"That's the Fenwick I'm looking for. I want to talk to him about my father."

"I believe he was a secretary-valet to your father for many years and your father left him enough to get this place at Fallerton. At least that was what I heard."

"I find so few people ready to talk about my father and naturally I want to hear. It seems so odd not to have known one's own father when he was alive. He never seemed to take any interest in me."

"Your mother had taken you away, hadn't she?"

"Yes, but it still seems strange that he should never have tried to get in touch with me. After all I am his daughter."

"I have heard that he had rather an unforgiving nature."

"What I hear of him is not very pleasant."

"Would it therefore be better to let sleeping dogs lie?"

"I don't feel like that. I have a burning desire to know."

"Well, let's see if we can find this place in Fallerton."

It was very pleasant riding across the country which he knew so well. All his life this had been his home ground. Fallerton was just outside his estate, he told me, otherwise he could have given me more information about Fenwick.

We soon came to Fallerton. It was, as Mrs. Pengelly had said, a small village. There was merely a short street in which a few houses clustered together, and one or two outlying cottages.

We saw a man with a horse and cart which was filled with hay. He was fixing his horse's nose bag and as we passed Michael called to him: "Do you know a Mr. Fenwick hereabouts?"

The man looked up and immediately showed that respect which Michael inspired on all occasions.

"Well Sir, if you do mean John Fenwick as took Mulberry Cottage, he have gone."

"Now where would Mulberry Cottage be?" asked Michael.

"Just follow the street and turn right for a hundred yards and you'll see Mulberry. A bit of land there is to that place. He took over the market garden. The vegetables was good and the flowers fine but he just took off and went. Told some of 'em 'tweren't his line at all. He'd been working up at Kellaway Castle for years and he weren't cut out for it, he said. So he sold the place and went off."

"Do you have an idea where?" "No Sir. I ain't got no idea."

"I wonder if anyone round here would have."

"I dunno. They might know at the inn. He'd been there pretty often, so I'm told."

We thanked our informant and went to take a look at Mulberry Cottage. The grounds seemed flourishing and a rosy-faced woman came to the door. Yes, Mulberry Cottage had belonged to Mr. Fen-wick. They'd bought it from him and they been here this last six months. They'd taken the market garden which she understood he'd taken over from the previous owner. No, she had no idea where he had gone. All she knew was that he wasn't there now.

Michael thought it would be a good idea if we went to the inn where we could refresh ourselves and ask questions.

We found the inn with the old sign creaking over the door: The Corn Dolly. We went inside; there were no other guests and we ordered cider to drink and whatever they had to offer us to eat. There were pasties, of course, and squab and lammy pies as well as cold meats.

When the innkeeper's wife brought us hot pasties and cider Michael asked her if she knew the whereabouts of a Mr. John Fen-wick.

"Oh, you do mean him as was up at Mulberry," she said. "He didn't stay long. 'Tweren't the life for him. He was more of a clerk like."

"He used to come in here quite a lot, I believe."

"Oh yes, he were a regular. He reckoned our cider were the best he ever tasted. Had a fancy for my pasties too, the same as you be having now ... he did."

I said I was not surprised, which pleased her; but she couldn't help us over Mr. Fenwick as she had no idea where he had gone.

"Not a very profitable morning," said Michael ruefully. "Never mind, we'll find him in time. I'll make inquiries. It shouldn't be too difficult. What do you think of the old Corn Dolly?"

"It's charming and what an odd name."

"You saw the sign as we came in?"

"Yes, it looked like a bundle of corn tied up to look like a doll."

"That's exactly what it is. At the end of the harvest they make these corn dollies and hang them around the place. Did you see the one in the hall as we came in? They're supposed to bring a good harvest next year."

"It reminds me in a way of the Polcrag Inn. The open fireplace... the oak beams."

"They haven't an earthenware lamp like this," said Michael, picking up an object from the center of the table. It was shaped like a candlestick. "See this hole at the top?" he went on. "A cupful of oil can be poured through that and then they insert a wick which they call a purvan. I like to see them keeping up the old customs. You don't see many of these Stonen Chills about now."

I picked it up and examined it. I said it was quaint but my mind was really on Fenwick and I was bitterly disappointed that our search had been fruitless.

He leaned across the table and patted my hand.

"Cheer up," he said. "I promise you I'll find Fenwick for you."

"Thank you. It's good of you to be so helpful."

"Nothing of the sort. It will be a pleasure. Leave it to me. I'll tell you what I'll do. When I find something I'll send you a message by carrier pigeon. How's that?"

"That would be fun," I replied. "And I'm sure Slack would be delighted."

"Gwennol and I often send messages like that."

"Yes, she told me."

We left the Corn Dolly and when we came in sight of the sea I was dismayed to see that a little way out the white horses were put­ting in an appearance.

"It's an offshore wind," said Michael. "Nothing much. They'll get you back all right, but it would be advisable to set out without delay."

"I rowed myself over," I said.

"Oh." His expression changed and became anxious, but he said no more until we reached the inn.

By that time I could see more of the white-crested waves.

"I'll row you over," Michael announced.

"That's not necessary."

"But I shall insist. It might be hard going. You need a man's hands on the oars in this tetchy kind of sea."

"And I was so proud of myself for rowing over alone!"

"It was fine coming. That's always the trouble though. Changes come too quickly."

Michael had arranged everything. He would hire a slightly stronger boat than the Ellen and in it he would row me over and row himself back. He would arrange for the Ellen to be taken over by one of the inn men. It was a very simple matter.

I felt uneasy as he rowed me to the Island—not of the elements but of the construction Gwennol and her mother would put on this if they discovered that I had spent some time on the mainland with Michael Hydrock and that he had rowed me back. It seemed almost certain that they would.

As we drew farther from the mainland the wind seemed to drop a little.

"I could have managed by myself," I said.

"Perhaps you could," he replied, "but I shouldn't have been very happy letting you go."

We got out of the boat and stood together on the shore.

"You'll come to the castle?" I asked.

"I don't think I will. I should get back. The Ellen should be here soon."

"It's been so kind of you."

"It's been the greatest pleasure for me."

He jumped back into the boat and I pushed it out. He waved and took the oars.

As I went up the incline towards the castle I met Jenifry. I knew by the manner in which she looked at me that she had seen our arrival, had watched him hold my hand on the shore when he said goodbye and had seen him go off in the boat.

I wondered whether Jenifry told Gwennol what she had seen. I found myself watching them furtively, which, if they noticed this, might have made me seem guilty.

The next day Gwennol went to the mainland and I stayed on the Island, and it occurred to me that I might go and call on Tassie.

Perhaps she would have a different future for me if Jago were not present.

She was sitting at the door of her cottage and her wrinkled old nutcracker face screwed into a smile as I approached. The black cat came out from under her skirts and glowered at me.

"Come in," she said, and I followed her.

Some logs were burning in the fireplace and the pungent smell of herbs seemed stronger than it had on that previous occasion.

"So you be all alone today, Miss," she said with a smirk. "I hope I see you well."

"Yes, thank you, and I hope I see you well."

That made her laugh, implying I supposed that she who could charm away other people's disabilities should certainly not be expected to have any of her own.

"And what can I do for a young lady like you?" she asked. "Tell me that. Do you want the cards read, would you like me to look into the crystal ball or would you be wanting me to read your palm?"

"You gave me a very good fortune last time I saw you," I replied. "I'll be content with that one—after all, what you see today might not be so good."

That seemed to amuse her. "Ah, I see you was well content—and not you only."

"I want you to tell me about someone else."

"Oh?" She cocked her head on one side and looked like a mischievous monkey. "No, Malken," she went on, addressing the cat. "We ain't used to that are we, my poppet?"

The cat mewed as though to answer her.

"It's someone who may... or may not be dead," I said.

"Ghosts don't have futures," she retorted sharply.

"But if you can see into the future perhaps you can also see into the past. I want to ask about my half sister Silva."

"Oh you do, do you? Poor maid! Hers was a sad life."

"Did she ever come to see you?"

"She often came. Especially at the end. She had reason to then."

"What reason?" I asked excitedly.

"She was anxious about the future."

"People don't seem to want to talk about her."

" 'Tis natural... where she be. She could be lying at the bottom of the sea, the fishes her only companions. Poor maid, poor sad maid!"

"Can you see her at the bottom of the sea?"

She looked at me shrewdly. "I might see her there one day and I might see her somewhere else the next."

"But if you can really see what you say you can, you must know whether she's dead or not."

"There's many as swear they can hear her crying when the wind do howl."

"Are you telling me she was really drowned?"

"The boat came in, didn't 'un? Where could she be if the boat she went in come in empty?"

"So you don't know," I said.