My father replied in a rather audible voice which the man might have heard: “It’s wise not to scrape up acquaintance in inns. One never knows what sort of rogue one can get saddled with.” The door closed on us. We were in a small room where the table was laid for three and hot soup was being ladled into bowls.

“I do hope he didn’t hear you,” I said.

My father shrugged that aside. “It’s true,” he said. “Now let’s see what the food is like at the Green Man.”

It was quite good and after we had eaten we retired to our rooms.

“Don’t forget,” said my father. “An early start. I’ve explained to mine host that we want a quick breakfast at daybreak. He has promised it shall be ready.”

We said goodnight and went to our rooms.

I felt rather tired but disinclined to go to bed immediately. It was always difficult to sleep in strange beds and I did not want the night to seem too long.

I went to the window and sat there watching the activity in the stable yard. Our carriage was there being cleaned by our coachman and postilion. They were chatting idly together as they worked.

I yawned. It would be pleasant to get away from Eversleigh for a while. Aunt Sophie’s death had cast a gloom over us all. I wished Amaryllis had come with us. She was not so fond of the London life as I was. I liked the shops and visits to the theatre; and there was almost certain to be a ball at one of our friends’ houses while we were in town.

While I was thinking of this, the man who had been drinking in the inn parlour strolled out of the inn and paused by our coach. He talked to the men who were cleaning it. He examined the carriage, studying the family crest on the side.

He put his head inside the vehicle and touched the padded seats. Our coachman was talking enthusiastically, pointing out the details of the upholstery and bodywork with obvious pride.

The man leaned against the side of the carriage and went on talking. I wished I could hear what they were saying. I saw him slip some money into the hands of the men and fearful that he might look up, I moved back from the window.

What was he talking about to our servants? And why had he thought it necessary to reward them? Gentlemen often tipped servants, of course—even other people’s. Perhaps he was very generous and considered the details about the carriage which they were giving him were worth paying for.

I went to bed and in spite of its being a strange one, I was soon fast asleep, and the next thing I knew was that my mother was tapping on the door to tell me it was time to get up.

In the afternoon of the next day we arrived at the house in Albemarle Street, our London home. On the first day my father was away on business and my mother and I went shopping—a pursuit we both enjoyed. We bought materials, lace and ribbons and as we were returning home with our purchases I thought I saw the man who had been at the inn.

He was walking down our street and he seemed to pause for a second or so to look at our house. Then I thought I must have been mistaken. There were many men around dressed as he was dressed; and he had been tall—so was the man in the street.

I said to my mother: “Did you see that man?”

She looked round and said: “Yes.”

“Is it the man we saw in the inn?”

“What man?” she asked.

And I did not pursue the matter. I wondered why I remembered him. Perhaps because he had talked to our servants, and I had seen money pass between them.

On the third day my father took my mother to visit some friends. I was not included. My mother said we would all go out in the afternoon. “I should like to take a ride in the Park then,” she said. “Shall we do that?”

I said I should like it.

They had not been gone more than half an hour when the urge came to go out. There was some ribbon I had seen in one of the shops and I thought it would be a good idea if I went along to get it. My mother would not want to go back to the shops just for that.

There was no harm in my going out alone. My mother did not like me to, but then like all mothers she still saw me as a child.’ She had forgotten that I was grown up.

It would not take me long and I should be back before they returned.

I put on my hat and cloak and went out into the street.

There is an excitement about the London streets particularly when one is alone and accustomed to being chaperoned.

The air seemed to sparkle on that morning. There was a kind of frost in it. I decided I would go to Bond Street. Its elegance delighted me. The shops were all inviting with their windows divided into small panes with the displays of goods behind them. There were cravats, perfume, boots of every kind and all of the most fashionable; and the hats—they were a spectacle in themselves.

The carriages rattled by at great speed and I caught glimpses of the stylish occupants. Everywhere was noise and colour. I was fascinated.

I found the shop with the ribbon and bought it. I was in no great hurry to return to the house. I wanted to go on savouring the richness of this urban scene.

There was a moment when I had the feeling that I was being followed. I stopped short and looked round. There were several people about and they all seemed intent on their own business. Did I imagine it, or did I see a tall man in a brown beaver hat turn and suddenly become absorbed in one of the shop windows? No. I was becoming obsessed by the tall man in the brown beaver hat.

As I was about to cross the road I became aware of someone plucking at my sleeve. I turned sharply and looking down saw a young girl. She could not have been more than twelve or thirteen. She lifted her face to mine and murmured: “Please … could you help me cross the road?”

Something about the way she smiled into space told me at once that she was blind. She was neatly but by no means expensively dressed and she looked so helpless standing there that I was touched with pity. “Certainly I will,” I said.

I took her arm.

“You are so kind,” she said. “I was with my sister. I lost her. It was in the crowd. It is so bewildering when I am alone. When I am with her… or my mother … I think I can be all right, but it is different to be alone …”

“Of course,” I said. “I think we could try it now. I’ll hold your arm.”

I took her across. It was certainly a little hazardous even for the sighted.

We had reached the other side. “Do you have far to go?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “If you would just help me along to Greville Street…”

“It is just along here, I believe.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“Do you live in Greville Street?”

“In Grant Street. It is a turning off Greville.”

“I am only too pleased to take you along there.”

“You are so kind. My mother will be very grateful. I must tell her not to scold Sarah. It was not her fault. There were so many people, you see. It is rather bewildering to find oneself alone in the darkness … with noise all around one …”

“It must be. I am so glad you asked my help.”

“People are so kind to those who are afflicted.”

“Here is Greville Street.”

“Would you really not mind taking me along to Grant Street?”

“Certainly I’ll take you.”

“I trust I am not taking you out of your way.”

“That’s of no importance. Oh, here it is.”

“Would you mind taking me up to the door? It’s number nineteen.”

It was a biggish house of three storeys. There were balconies on the first floor and the windows were all discreetly curtained.

“I don’t know how to thank you. Would you mind ringing the doorbell?”

I did so and was about to step back when she said: “Do wait a moment.”

The door was opened by a big man who said: “Oh, there you are, Miss Mary. Miss Sarah’s been back a full fifteen minutes. Your ma was getting worried.”

“This kind lady brought me home.”

“Come in a minute, Miss, will you?”

“There is no need to,” I said. “Miss Mary is now safely home.”

He looked at me appealingly. “The missus will be mad with me if you’re not thanked properly,” he said.

“I have done nothing …”

Mary had taken my hand firmly and pulled me into the hall. The door shut behind us. It had a hollow sound and I noticed there was no furniture in the hall.

“Who is there?” called a voice.

“Come on,” said Mary. “That is my Mama. She’ll want to thank you.”

The big man threw open the door and Mary drew me into a room. It was very sparsely furnished. There was a table with two or three chairs and very little else. At the table sat a woman. I could not see her face very clearly because she had her back to the window but I was beginning to think there was something rather unusual about this household and I experienced the first twinges of apprehension.

On the table before the woman was a tea tray set with cups and saucers. She looked at me with curiosity as I came in.

“This is the lady who brought me home, Mama,” said Mary.

“Oh, how good of you. It is not the first time a kind lady has brought Mary home. Thank you. Thank you. You’ll have a cup of tea, won’t you?”

“I won’t stop now, thanks. I really should not have come in. It was nothing.”

“It was a great deal and you must drink a cup of tea with me or I shall be a little put out.”

“No thanks … please. I must get home.”

“Oh, you are a very fine young lady. That is obvious. And here are we… about to leave our home. Our furniture has gone … or most of it… just a few sticks left. And we shall be going soon. I understand, of course, we are not the kind of people your sort would mix with …”

The big man appeared carrying a pot of tea.

I said: “Oh no … of course not…”

“Then a little cup, eh. Ah, I knew you would … Jacob, take this to the young lady …”

I felt there was something strange about this … something not quite natural…

The cup was put into my hands and my impulse was to gulp down the tea and get out as quickly as I could.

Mary and her mother were watching me; and it struck me that Mary no longer had the look of a blind girl.

As I was about to put the cup to my lips there was a violent ringing of the doorbell. Both Mary and her mother were clearly startled. We all seemed to be listening intently. I heard voices. There was a shout and what sounded like a scuffle … The door was flung open and to my astonishment, there stood the man in the brown beaver hat.

I rose to my feet spilling the tea. I heard myself stammer: “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

He was looking straight at me.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Get out. Get out of my house … whoever you are,” shouted the woman. “What do you want here?”

“I want to know why you have brought this young lady here.”

“How dare you! How dare you!”

He was looking straight at me.

“Let’s go,” he said.

I had set down the cup on the floor. I went to the man. The woman came towards us … so did Mary. They caught at my arm, but he flung them off and pulled me into the hall where the big man was lying on the floor moaning softly.

“Let’s get out of this place,” said the man in the beaver hat.

At the door he turned and shouted: “You’ll be hearing more of this.”

We came into the street. My first feeling was relief to have left behind that room which I now knew to have been evil.

My limbs started to shake. I did not realize until this moment how frightened I had begun to be. There had been an unreality about the entire proceedings—the girl pretending to be blind, the emptiness of the house, the strange almost theatrical atmosphere. I could not imagine what it had meant.

I looked at the man beside me. It was the first time I had been so close to him. He was quite handsome; his features were set in a classic mould; his light brown eyes could be humorous; but at the moment they were full of concern. I had been interested in him from the moment I had seen him. Now I was decidedly anxious to hear more about him.

“That,” he said, “was a most unsavoury place for a young lady of good breeding to find herself in.”

“I don’t understand what it was all about. All I know is that I have to thank you for rescuing me.”

“I was going to ask forgiveness for a certain curiosity, but it really served a good purpose in this instance. Would you like to come somewhere where we could have some refreshment? You need something.”