I did not have long to take in all this for he was clearly astonished to see me. I was about to shut the door of my cupboard room when he burst out: “Who are you and what are you doing up here?”

I raised my eyebrows to express my surprise.

He went on impatiently, “What are you doing on this landing? I have paid for the use of it, and have particularly asked that there should be no intruders.”

“I,” I replied haughtily, “have paid for this room … such as it is, and let me tell you, sir, I deeply resent your manner.”

He said: “You … have paid for a room here!”

“If you can call it a room,” I said. “I have taken this … this … space for the night, understanding that you and your party have taken the rest of the rooms.”

“How long have you been here?”

“I fail to see that that is any concern of yours.”

He walked past me and went downstairs. I heard him calling for the innkeeper.

I stood where I was, listening.

“You rogue. What do you mean by this? Did I or did I not pay you for the use of your rooms this night and was it not on the understanding that I and my party were not to be disturbed?”

“My lord … my lord … the lady has only this small room. It could be of no use to you. That was why I did not mention it. The lady comes frequently. I could not turn her away, my lord.”

“Did I not tell you that I have a very sick man up there?”

“My lord … the lady understands. She will be very quiet.”

“I have expressly commanded …”

I went downstairs and swept past them, for they were standing at the foot of the stairs.

I said: “Your sick friend will be more disturbed by all the noise that you are making than he possibly can by my presence on that floor.”

Then I went into the dining room.

I was aware of him looking after me. He turned and went back upstairs.

The innkeeper’s wife was in the dining room. She was clearly disturbed by all the fuss that was going on and tried to pretend that she was not.

The sucking pig would be served at once, she told me, and I said I was ready for it. She brought it herself. It was succulent and appetising and there was cold venison pie with a mulled wine to wash it down with. This was followed by apples and pears and biscuits flavoured with tansy and some herbs which I could not recognise.

It was when I was eating the biscuits that the man entered the dining room.

He came to my table and said: “I wish to apologise for my behaviour.”

I inclined my head to imply that an apology was needed.

“I was so anxious about my friend.”

“I gathered that,” I answered.

“He is a very sick man and is so easily disturbed.”

“I promise I shall not disturb him.”

I had an opportunity now to look at his face. It was an interesting one. He was deeply bronzed, and his peruke was dark but I imagined beneath it his hair would be fair; his eyes were light brown, almost golden, and he had strongly marked dark brows. It was a strong face—a deep cleft in the chin and full lips—sensuous lips, I decided, which could be cruel; there was a merriment in his eyes which contrasted with the mouth. His was a disturbing personality; or perhaps, as Beau had hinted, I enjoyed the company of the opposite sex in what he had called a normal, healthy way.

I wished I could stop remembering what Beau had said and comparing everyone with him. My interest in this man was because there was something about him which reminded me of Beau.

“May I sit down?” he said.

“This is the general dining room, I believe. And I am about to go.”

“You understand my discomfiture when I discovered that others were close by my sick friend.”

“Others? You mean when you discovered I was.”

He leaned his elbows on the table and studied me intently. I saw the admiration in his eyes and I had to admit that I was gratified.

“You are a very beautiful young lady,” he said. “I am surprised that you are allowed to travel alone.”

“This is hardly to the point,” I said coldly, then feeling it might be unwise to let him think I was alone added: “I am not travelling alone. I have grooms with me. They, alas, have had to find accommodation elsewhere. I make this journey frequently, but this is the first time something unfortunate like this has happened.”

“Please do not think of it as unfortunate. I was angry, I admit. Now I rejoice that I have been given this opportunity to make your acquaintance. May I know your name?”

I hesitated. I could understand his annoyance and he was clearly a quick-tempered man. He was doing his best to apologise now and I did not want to appear ungracious.

“It is Carlotta Main. What is yours?”

I saw that he was surprised. He repeated: “Carlotta Main. You belong to the Eversleigh family.”

“You know my family?”

“I know of them. Lord Eversleigh is your …”

“He is my grandmother’s son by her first marriage.”

“I see. And Leigh.”

“He is my stepfather. We are a rather complicated family.”

“And a military one. I believe the great General Tolworthy was a connection.”

“That’s so. It seems that I am no stranger to you. I wonder if I have heard of your family. What is your name?”

“It is … John Field.”

“No. I have never heard of any Fields.”

“Unexplored pastures,” he said with a hint of humour. “I wish we had met in happier circumstances.”

“And I wish that you get your friend safely to London.”

“Thank you. He needs skilled attention quickly. It is a great anxiety …”

I realized that he was apologising again and I stood up. I felt I should retire. There was something too bold and disturbing in his looks. He studied me too intently, and having had some experience of such matters I was well aware that he was assessing me and for what purpose. He was too like Beau for my comfort, and Beau had taught me so much about the ways of men.

The more I was close to this one, the more uneasy I became.

He stood up with me. He bowed and I went out of the dining room. I took a candle from the table in the hall and started up.

I met the innkeeper’s wife on the stairs with the serving maid. They were carrying food up the landing. It was evidently being served in one of those four rooms. So this John Field had come into the dining room just to apologise to me.

I went into my room and was relieved to see that there was a key. I turned it in the lock and felt safe.

It was stiflingly hot in the little cupboard so I went to the window and found to my delight that I could open it, and when a little air came in the atmosphere was more bearable.

I sat down on my stool. It must be nearly ten o’clock. We should leave early in the morning. There was not a great deal of time to be spent here, and how glad I should be when the dawn came.

Then suddenly a gust from the open window doused my candle. I sighed but did not attempt for a while to relight it. There was a halfmoon and it was a clear night, so as my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom I could see well enough.

It was then that I became aware of the crack of light in the wall. Perplexed, I stared at it; then I got up to examine it.

Good heavens, I thought. There must have been a door there at one time. It has been boarded up.

Yes, that was it. Boarded up and not too expertly done. This cupboard room of mine must at one time have led from the room next to it—perhaps it was a kind of dressing room—and there had obviously been a small communicating door between the two rooms. Someone must have decided to shut it off completely to make a maid’s room of it.

There was this slight crack at the side which would hardly have been visible if I had not been in the dark and there was light in the room behind the partition. And as I was examining it, I heard the mumble of voices. At first I thought they came from the corridor. Then I realized that they were coming through the crack in the wall.

John Field and his friends were in urgent discussion. I shrugged my shoulders. I imagined them sitting down to the sucking pig, which had been brought up by the innkeeper’s wife and her serving woman.

Then suddenly I heard my name and I was alert. I put my ear to the crack.

I recognised the voice of John Field. “Carlotta Main … the heiress … one of the Eversleighs … That she should be here this night.”

A mumble of voices.

“I could murder that innkeeper. I said clearly that we were not to be disturbed …”

“It’s only a girl …”

“Yes … but one of the Eversleigh family …”

“You spoke to her?”

“A real beauty.” I heard him chuckle. “A young lady with a high opinion of herself.”

“You were clearly taken with her. Trust you, Hessenfield.”

Hessenfield, I thought. He had said he was John Field. So he had given me a false name. This was no ordinary mission of taking a sick man to a doctor. And why should it need six men to do this? Unless of course they were servants; but from that scrap of conversation I had heard it did not seem that this was the case.

Then I heard him again: “A fiery creature, I imagine. A real beauty.”

“This is not the time for dalliance of that nature.”

“You’ve no need to remind me. We’ll have no trouble with the haughty young lady. She’ll be off at dawn. I gathered that from her.”

“Do you think it was wise …?”

“Wise? What do you mean …?”

“Making yourself known … going to speak to her …”

“Oh, an apology was needed, you know.”

“Trust you to play the gallant. What if she recognised you?”

“How could she? We’ve never met.”

“Well, gave an account of you …”

“The occasion won’t arise. We’ll be out and away within the next few days Stop fidgeting, Durrell. And now … let’s go and eat.”

I heard the shutting of the door and there was silence. They would be partaking of the sucking pig in the next room.

I lighted my candle and went back to my stool.

There was something very mysterious going on and in a way I was caught up in it. It was disconcerting to know how much my presence disturbed them. What had he meant when he said I might recognise the man who called himself John Field? And his real name was Hessenfield. Why should he have given a false name? Because if he were found out in whatever he was doing, he did not want it to be known.

There was a long night to be lived through and I did not expect to get much sleep.

I took off my jacket. I did not intend to undress completely. I had no nightclothes in any case. They were in the saddlebags.

I lay down on the pallet, blew out my candle and found myself watching the crack in the wall.

It must have been past midnight when I saw a flicker of light. I went to the wall and put my ear to the crack. There was no conversation. Evidently someone was in the room alone. In due course the light went out.

I dozed fitfully through the night and as soon as the first streaks of light were in the sky I was preparing to leave. I had settled my account with the innkeeper the previous night and told him that I might be leaving before the household was astir. He had left me some ale and cold bacon with bread on the table and there was a can of water and small ewer. I used these as silently as I could and ate my breakfast.

While I was doing this I heard signs of activity on the landing and guessed that my neighbours were astir also.

I looked out of my window and saw one of them going to the stables.

Then I heard the creaking of stairs.

I was ready. I opened my door and looked out. It was silent. Then I heard the sound of heavy breathing and a gasp as though someone were in pain.

I went along the landing. A door was half open. Then I heard the gasp again.

I pushed open the door and looked in. “Can I help?” I said.

I have often thought afterwards how one moment in time can affect our whole lives and wondered how different everything might have been if I had remained in my room until the party who had shown such a desire for secrecy had gone.

But my curiosity got the better of me and I took a fatal step when I pushed open that door and looked in.

A man was lying in the bed. There was blood on his clothes and his face was the colour of whey. His eyes were wide and glassy and he looked very different from when I had last seen him.