“What about the pail? Where did it come from? Do you know?”

“No, mistress, but we’m going to find out if us can.”

I had an uneasy night. I slept on the narrow couch in the dressing room adjoining our bedroom with the door open so that I could hear Jean-Louis if he awoke. He lay in our big bed with his leg in splints and I should have been relieved because there was nothing wrong except a broken leg which would heal in due course.

I was rather surprised to feel an acute sense of disappointment because I should have to cancel my visit to Eversleigh … for quite a long time, it seemed, for even when the bone set I doubted whether Jean-Louis would be fit for some time after to make the long and rather exhausting journey.

I had allowed myself to think a great deal about Eversleigh Court and I longed to take a look at Enderby, that house which had played such a big part in our family story. I had not realized how very much I had been looking forward to the adventure; and now it was postponed … for a very long time, I should imagine.

I dozed fitfully and in the middle of the night I woke up. I wondered what had wakened me. I listened. All was quiet in the bedroom. Then I knew. It was a startling idea. Why should I not go alone?

The more I pondered it, the more feasible it seemed. There would be a great shaking of heads. Young women did not travel alone. I was not such a young woman. I didn’t propose to go quite alone, of course; I could take the two grooms and another for the packhorse just the same. The only difference would be that Jean-Louis would not be with me.

I was too excited to sleep after that, but lay in bed making plans for going to Eversleigh even though Jean-Louis would not be able to accompany me.

There was a great deal of excitement the next morning because the pail was traced to our garden. A pail was missing from one of the sheds, and in spite of its buckled and scarred appearance the one found in the barn was undoubtedly that one which was missing.

That dispensed with the tramp idea. It was one of our people who had caused the fire.

Farmer Hassock had declared that he’d beat the daylights out of the culprit when he found him, for this bit of mischief would cost a pretty penny.

Having discovered the identity of the pail the search for the culprit was a simple one. In the early afternoon Ned Carter came to see me—as Jean-Louis’s deputy—dragging with him his son, Jake.

Jake’s face was white and frightened and there were tear stains on his cheeks.

“This is the young imp of mischief, mistress,” said Ned Carter. “I got it out of him. It was him what took the pail … to cook some meat, he said. And where does he get the meat? I ask. That’s something I can’t beat out of him. Though I will. When he has another taste of my belt! I’ll find out. Well, it was him, see. It was him that had this wicked notion to steal the pail and take it in the barn where he tries to cook the meat what he got from who knows where. I tell him it’ll be transportation for him or a gibbet fore long.”

I felt sorry for Jake Carter. He was only a boy—a nervous child overcome with terror.

Memory stirred in me. I remembered the last time I had seen him and he had not been alone. Of course! It was an hour or so before the fire had started.

I knew then that the idea of taking the pail and the meat would not have been Jake’s. He would have been ordered to do so and join in the expedition.

I said: “Jake, was somebody with you when you went to the barn?”

Jake looked more frightened than ever.

“No, mistress, ’twas by myself, I was. I didn’t mean to do no harm. … There was this bit of meat like …”

“Where did you get the meat?”

He was silent. Of course I knew. I could picture how it happened.

“Answer mistress,” said Ned, giving the boy a blow at the side of his head which sent him staggering across to the wall, which saved him from falling.

“Just a minute, Ned,” I said. “Don’t be hasty. Please don’t hit the boy until I have made some inquiries.”

“But he’s done it, mistress. Good as said so.”

“Just a minute. I want to go over to the Hall.”

Jake looked as if he were preparing to run and I was more convinced than ever.

“Come,” I said, “we’re going now.”

My mother was surprised to see me marching in with Ned Carter and his terrified son.

“What’s the trouble?” she cried.

“Is Dickon here?” I asked.

“He’s out riding with Sabrina, I think. Why?”

“I want to see him rather urgently.” It was fortunate, for at that moment they came in flushed from the ride. It couldn’t have been more convenient.

Dickon betrayed himself in the first seconds, so taken off his guard was he to see the Carters there.

He turned to the door.

“I’ve forgotten my …”

He paused, for I was barring his way.

“Just a minute,” I said. “Jake has been accused of starting the fire at Farmer Hassock’s barn. But I don’t think he was alone.”

“I reckon he was,” said Dickon.

“No,” I said, “I reckon he had a companion, and that it was you.”

“No,” he cried. He strode over to the cowering Jake. “You been telling tales.”

“He has not mentioned you,” I said.

“Oh, Zipporah dear,” said my mother. “Why bother with all this? How is poor Jean-Louis?”

“What is bothering me,” I said with unaccustomed firmness, which the thought of any injustice could arouse in me, bringing me out of my mildness in a way which once or twice in my life had astonished people, “is that Jake Carter is being blamed for something which he only did because he was forced to by someone else.”

“No … no …” said Jake. “I done it. It was me that lighted the fire in the pail.”

“I’m going out to Vesta,” said Dickon. “I reckon her pups are just ready to be born. She might have them by now.”

“You can wait a little while before you go to see them,” I said. “For instance, after you have told us who took the meat from the pantry and who made Jake take the pail and accompany him to the barn where the fire was made and got out of hand, and then ran away with Jake.”

“Why do you ask me?” he said insolently.

“Because I happen to know the answer and that you were this culprit.”

“It’s a lie,” he said.

I took him by the arm. His glare was venomous. It shocked me to see such a look in one so young.

“I saw you,” I said. “It’s no use denying it. I saw you with the pail. You were carrying it … Jake had a bundle of something. I saw you making for the Hassock farm.”

There was a deep silence.

Then Dickon said: “It’s all silly. It was only a game. We didn’t mean to set fire to the old barn.”

“But you did,” I said. “And you made Jake go with you. And then you left him to take the blame.”

“Oh, we’ll pay for the damage that was done to the barn,” said Sabrina.

“Of course,” I replied, “but that doesn’t settle the matter.”

“It does,” said Dickon.

“Oh, no. You have to tell Ned Carter that his boy was not to blame.”

“Oh, what a silly lot of trouble about nothing,” he said.

I looked at him steadily. “I don’t think it is nothing,” I said. I went on: “Ned, you can go now. It was not Jake’s fault, remember that. He was led into this. I am sure my husband will be very upset if he hears that you have punished the boy. He only did what he was ordered to do. You can go now.”

There was a silence in the Hall after they had gone.

Sabrina and my mother were very upset. Dickon came over to me and looked at me through narrowed eyes. He said in a very low voice: “I won’t forget this.”

“No,” I answered, “nor shall I.”

He ran out saying he was going to the stable to look for Vesta.

Sabrina said: “Of course boys do get up to these pranks.”

“Yes,” I admitted. “They do. But when they are caught good boys do not stand aside and let someone else take the blame, particularly someone who is not in a position to defend himself.”

They were shocked into silence. They could not bear criticism of their beloved child.

Then I said quite suddenly so that I surprised myself:

“I’ve decided to go to Eversleigh as we arranged.”

They were startled. “Jean-Louis …” began my mother.

“Cannot go, of course. He is well looked after here. I shall wait a week or so, of course, and when I consider I can leave him I shall go as arranged. I am sure Lord Eversleigh would be very upset if I didn’t go and I shall only be away for a short while.”

It was as though my other self was preparing to take possession.

There was a great deal of opposition to my proposal to go to Eversleigh without Jean-Louis. My mother said she would not have a moment’s peace until she had heard that I had arrived safely, and after that there would be the journey home again to be undertaken. Sabrina added her voice to my mother’s. There had rarely been so much highway robbery as there was at this time, she informed me, and those dreadful villains stopped at nothing.

Dickon added: “They shoot you dead, you know, if you won’t hand over your money.”

I felt he would be quite amused if such a mishap overtook me, for our relationship had not improved since the discovery of the cause of the fire in Farmer Hassock’s barn.

Jean-Louis’s reaction was as I expected it to be. One of resignation and determination that my desire to go should not be thwarted. He was hobbling round the house and was able to go round the estate in a kind of go-cart, which was a great relief to him for the frustration of being cut off from his work would have been hard to bear.

“You see,” I explained, to him, “I have a feeling that I must go. That second letter from the old man … there was something about it. Sabrina said it was like a cry for help. That’s rather fanciful, I suppose, but on the other hand, there did seem to be something in it … in a strange sort of way.”

“What worries me most is the journey,” said Jean-Louis. “If I could feel that you would be safe …”

“Oh, Jean-Louis,” I cried, “people are making journeys every day. We don’t hear of the thousands who arrive safely. There is always such a lot of talk when there is a mishap.”

“Some parts of the road are very dangerous … notorious haunts of highwaymen.”

“We shall avoid those and I shall have protection.”

“Your mother is very much against it.”

“I know. She was in an accident when she was a child and has never forgotten it. I’ll be all right, Jean-Louis.”

He looked at me earnestly. “You very much want to go, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I said. “I have a strong feeling that I should.”

“I understand.” He did understand. He was a quiet and thoughtful man and often understood my thoughts before I had expressed them. I believe now that he was thinking that life was beginning to pall; that I was looking for excitement. He did not want me to grow vaguely dissatisfied, which perhaps I was doing without realizing it. However, being Jean-Louis he was constructive rather than destructive; instead of deciding that the journey was impossibly dangerous, he set about planning how to make it as safe as possible.

“I think you should have six grooms,” he said. “They can return as soon as you are safely delivered; and then come back for you when you return. Those and one more for the saddle horse and you will be a considerable party.”

I kissed him. I felt brimming over with love.

“Well?” he said.

“I think I have the best husband in the world,” I told him.

It was typical of him that he should hide his apprehension from me; he seemed to grow quite excited about the preparations as I discussed with him what I should take and the route we should travel.

It was on a lovely morning when we set out—a typical June day with the sun newly risen to give us a pleasant early morning warmth and the promise of a fine day. We made good progress and the feeling of expectation was growing. Every thing seemed to be more vivid than usual. Butterflies the purest white against the purple buddleia, the hum of the bees at work on vivid blue borage and clover, moon daisies in the fields with the buttercups and cowslips and the glimpse of the scarlet pimpernel on the edges of the cornfields—these miracles of nature, which I had taken for granted all my life, seemed especially wonderful.

We should have two stops on our journey and the arrangements at the inn had been most carefully made so, as expected, there was no difficulty about accommodation when we made our first stop in good time.