Rolf had told me that it was said to be St. John’s Festival but it really had its origins in the old pagan days; and people practised the rites without knowing what the original intentions had been.

Dancing round the fire, he said, was a precaution against witchcraft; and it was something to do with fertility rites which people often practised in the old days. To leap through the fire and get one’s clothes singed meant that one was immune from the evil eye for a whole year, when, I presumed, the act must be performed again. There had been accidents and there had been one girl who had been badly burned. That was said to be a triumph for witchcraft; and it was after that when my father had said there was to be no more leaping over the flames.

It had always been a great treat for Jacco and me to stay up late and set out for the moors with our parents, my father driving the two big greys. I still remember the thrill when the torch was flung into the piled-up wood and the cry of triumph which went up as the flames burst forth.

We used to watch people dancing round the fire. No one attempted to leap over while we were there. I sometimes wondered whether they did when my father was no longer watching.

About half an hour after midnight we would drive home.

“I hope they’ll be home for Midsummer’s Eve,” I said to Jacco.

We had ridden out to the moors and were lying in the rough grass sheltered by a boulder.

He put on his bravado look. “If not we’ll go by ourselves. We can ride out.”

“What! At midnight!”

“Afraid?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why not?”

I realized that he had just thought of that and no doubt said it hastily; now his jaw was set and that indicated determination.

“We’re not supposed to,” I reminded him.

“Who said so?”

“Mama … Papa …”

“They’re not here to say. We haven’t been told not to.”

“No. Because nobody thought of it.”

“If you’re afraid to come I’ll go by myself.”

“If you go I’m going with you.”

He plucked a blade of grass and started to chew on it. I could see he was already making plans for Midsummer’s Eve.

Thinking of it brought Mother Ginny to mind. I said: “Jacco, do you believe Mother Ginny is a real witch?”

“I expect so.”

“Do you think she is ill-wishing people here?”

“She could be.”

“There was the mare and Mrs. Cherry’s baby and everything going wrong. I’d like to know.”

He agreed that he would too.

“They are all getting scared,” he said. “I heard Bob Gill telling young Jack Barker not to forget to leave a didjan for the knackers before he went down the mine. It’s Jack’s first week there and he looked really scared.”

“Rolf says they’re scared because theirs is a dangerous job. Like the fishermen. They never know when something awful will happen underground or when the sea will turn rough.”

Jacco was silent, still brooding on our coming adventure. “We’ll have to be careful,” he said. “You don’t want Miss Caster to interfere.”

I nodded. Then I said: “It’s time for tea.”

“Let’s go.”

We mounted our horses and left the moor behind us. As we came down to the harbour we were immediately aware that there was more than the usual activity.

People all seemed to be talking at once.

“What’s happened?” called Jacco.

I was always interested in the manner in which the people treated Jacco. He was only a boy—two years older than I was in fact—but he was the heir of Cador and would be the squire one day. They wavered between contempt for his youth and respect for the power which would one day be his.

Some of them looked away but Jeff Mills said to him: “There be trouble with one of the boats, Master Jacco.”

“What trouble?”

“Her started letting in water seemingly. They had to rescue her crew.”

“Are they all safe?”

“Aye. But boat be lost. This will be real bad luck for the Poldeans.”

“My father will be home soon.”

“Oh aye. Reckon he’ll see to it. That’s what I do tell Jim Poldean.”

Jacco turned to me. “Come on. There’s nothing we can do.”

“It’s odd,” I said. “We were talking about the dangers of the sea only a little while ago.”

“Just think. They’ve lost their boat. That’s their living.”

“But our father will help them to get a new one,” I said complacently. I was very proud of him and especially at times like this when I saw how much people relied on him.

We were late for tea which did not please Miss Caster or Mrs. Penlock.

“These lardy cakes should be eaten hot from the oven,” said Mrs. Penlock.

I explained that we were late because when we had come to the quay there were crowds there.

“That were a terrible thing for the Poldeans,” said Mrs. Penlock.

I looked at Jacco as though to say, Trust her to know all about it.

“And,” she went on, “we do know how it come about.”

“There must have been something wrong with the boat,” said Jacco. “The sea’s like a lake today.”

“Boat been tampered with most like.”

“How could that be?”

“Don’t ’ee ask me. There be ways and means. There be people who has powers … and not living very far from here neither. I could tell you something.”

“Oh yes, Mrs. Penlock, what?” I asked.

“Well … I did hear that when Jim Poldean was setting out, who should have been there watching him but Mother Ginny. She did shout something to him … something about Parson having caught a hare in the church.”

“Well,” I asked, “what of that?”

“My patience me! Don’t ’ee know nothing, Miss Annora? ’Tis terrible unlucky to talk of parsons, churches and wild animals to a man just putting out to sea. It’s something that never be done … if it can be helped.”

“But why?”

“There b’aint no whys and wherefores. ’Tis just so. If you have to mention the church, any fool knows ’tis to be called the Cleeta.”

I remembered something Rolf had told me about this not so long ago.

“It be clear as daylight,” went on Mrs. Penlock. “And this has to be stopped … stopped I say before we are all took sick or murdered in our beds.”

Jacco and I gave ourselves up to the succulent joy of lardy cakes, which no one could make quite like Mrs. Penlock.

“They’re gorgeous,” said Jacco.

“Should have been eaten ten minutes ago,” grumbled Mrs. Penlock, not ill-pleased.

Later that day there was a letter from my mother.

Grandfather Dickon had died. They were staying at Eversleigh for a week or so to comfort my grandmother and then they would return home. They were trying to persuade her to come back with them, but she did not seem to want to leave Eversleigh. Helena and Peterkin were there with Amaryllis—and of course Claudine and David. We should all be going for a visit soon.

Jacco and I were sad thinking of our grandfather. We had not seen a great deal of him, but when we had he had made a deep impression on us. He had been a very powerful figure and my mother had told us many stories about him. In her eyes he was a giant among men; he had rescued Grandmother Lottie from the mob during the French Revolution. We had all thought him superhuman and it was a shock to learn that he was not immortal after all.

They would not be home for Midsummer’s Eve. I guessed that Jacco was not altogether displeased by this as he was longing to put his plan into action.

The proposed adventure was absorbing his thoughts. I had to admit that I was looking forward to it, too.

On the night before Midsummer’s Eve, I was awakened suddenly in alarm.

Someone was in my room. I sat up.

“Sh!” said Jacco.

“Jacco, what are you doing here?”

He came to the side of my bed and whispered: “Something’s going on.”

“Where?”

He glanced towards Miss Caster’s room, which was next to mine, and put his fingers to his lips.

“I’m going to see. Want to come?”

“Where?” I repeated.

“Out. Listen. Can you hear?”

I strained my ears. Faintly, from some way off, I heard the sound of voices.

“If you want to come, get dressed. Riding things. We’re taking the horses. If you don’t, keep quiet. I’m going.”

“Of course I’m coming.”

“Come to the stables,” he said, “and whatever you do, don’t make a noise.”

He crept out, and trembling with excitement, I dressed. I had a premonition that something terrible was about to happen … but something which I must not miss.

He was waiting impatiently at the stables.

“Thought you were never coming.”

“Where are we going?”

“I don’t know quite. Somewhere in the woods.”

I saddled my chestnut mare and we rode out.

I could see that Jacco was enjoying this. I followed him. We came to the river and went into the woods.

I said: “It’s near Mother Ginny’s cottage. Do you think … ?”

“It’s been blowing up for weeks,” he said. “Poldean’s boat has brought it to a head.”

We were making our way through the trees to the clearing. The woods had always been mysterious to me. It was only recently that I had been allowed to enter them alone. There had always been fears of our falling into the river, which was fairly wide at this spot where it was about to enter the sea.

I said: “What’s the time?”

“Just on midnight.”

I could now see the light of torches among the trees.

Jacco said: “Be careful. They mustn’t see us.”

We were close to the clearing now and the trees were thinning out. I could see a crowd of people; they were all dancing round a cart and in this cart was a figure. No, it couldn’t be! Mother Ginny!

I gasped.

“It’s not real,” whispered Jacco. “It’s a thing made to look like her.”

There were people I knew there but they looked different in the light of the torches.

“We’ve come just at the right moment,” said Jacco.

“What are they going to do?”

“Watch.”

They had lighted a bonfire in the middle of the clearing and were dancing round it. Then someone took the effigy from the cart and fixed it on the end of a pole.

I gasped in amazement as they dipped the pole into the flames. A cry went up. The figure was lifted high. Its clothes were alight. They chanted; they danced; they screamed. They seemed to be in a frenzy.

I felt sick. I did not want to see any more.

I turned to Jacco and said: “I want to go.”

“Oh, all right,” he replied, pretending to placate me, but I knew that he, too, was sickened by what he had seen.

We rode back cautiously, taking our horses to the stables and then creeping into the house.

Neither of us spoke.

I lay sleepless through the night.

Midsummer’s Eve! There had always been an aura of excitement on this day. Even the young children were allowed to sit up and were taken to the moors to see the lighting of the bonfires.

“’Tis something as has been done in these parts since the beginning of time,” said Mrs. Penlock, “and I see no reason why we should ever stop what’s been done by them as has gone before.”

Nobody else saw any reason why either. The usual excitement was there but something more besides. There was a feverish expectation in the kitchen and it mounted throughout the day. I could hardly wait for the evening to come and on the other hand I was filled with an inexplicable apprehension.

I was up early and went down to the harbour. I saw Betty Poldean there. There was a wild light in her eyes.

“Good day to ’ee, Miss Annora,” she said.

“Good day, Betty,” I replied. I hesitated. I wanted to say something about her father’s boat but I did not know how to. Instead I tried to comfort her with a reference to my parents’ return, which would be soon now. “My father will want to know all that has been happening while he has been away,” I added significantly.

“Oh … aye,” she said; but I could see her thoughts were on the coming night. She did not look so far ahead as my parents’ return.

Children were collecting wood and furse to take to the moors for the bonfire. But there would be plenty going on down here on the quay. Some of the fishermen were setting up tarred barrels on poles and they would be lighted and make an impressive sight all along the harbour. Children were being taken out for trips on the water.

“Hey there, Miss Annora,” called Thomas Lewis, “what about taking a pennorth of sea?”