Mr. Mottingley said harshly, “What have you to do with my son?”

A little colour came into Kathy’s pale face.

“I’m his friend,” she said. And whether it was the words, or her look, or the tone of her voice, Mr. Mottingley underwent a surprising change of consciousness. He believed her, and not only did he believe her, but he had a sudden and most amazing understanding of her motive in coming to him. He said quietly and gravely,

“He could do with a friend, poor lad.”

Kathy’s hands clasped one another tightly.

“Yes,” she said. “Oh, Mr. Mottingley, you know he didn’t harm her. You do know that, don’t you?”

“Ay-I know it. He didn’t harm her to her death-I know that. But there are other ways of harming-I can’t hold him clear of them.”

Kathy looked at him.

“Was it all his fault?” she said.

“Maybe not. It’s not for us to put the blame on one or on the other. Why did you come here?”

She gave him a straight answer.

“I wanted to see you for myself.”

“And why did you want to do that?”

“I don’t know. I felt that I needed to know you.”

“Why?”

She spread out her hands.

“I don’t really know. I just felt that I had to come.”

Mr. Mottingley recovered himself with a jolt.

“Are you telling me that you are sweet on Jimmy?” he said sternly.

He was prepared for tears. He certainly expected that calm of hers to break. The curious thing was that when it remained impervious he felt, not frustration, but a secret triumph.

Kathy said, “Oh, no, Mr. Mottingley. It’s not that. It’s just that he has been like one of the family. I have two brothers and a sister, you know. He’s a friend of Len’s, so he has been at the house a good deal. And I wanted to see you. You see, I couldn’t help knowing that Jimmy was quite desperately afraid of you.”

Well, she had got it out. She had not known whether she would be able to say it, but she had got it out.

Mr. Mottingley felt as if a cold light had been turned on him. It was a very uncomfortable feeling. He frowned and said,

“You mean that he has a proper respect for me and for his mother?”

“Oh, yes! I know that he has-I didn’t mean that. I meant- Oh, Mr. Mottingley, I meant that he is quite horribly frightened of you.”

He stared at her.

“I don’t understand.”

Kathy’s hands were clasped tightly together again.

“I know it’s difficult for you. But won’t you try? Please, please do! Jimmy is so afraid of you that he goes all to bits at the thought of telling you anything. Sometimes when I’ve said to him, ‘But why don’t you tell your father?’ he has just wrung his hands and said, ‘I can’t do it-I just can’t.’ And that’s true, you know-you can see it. He’s just horribly afraid of you.”

“He is the only one that lived,” said Mr. Mottingley. “There were three that died one after the other. And then there was Jimmy. And we made a solemn promise that we wouldn’t spoil him, but bring him up in the fear of God.”

Kathy raised her eyes and fixed them upon him.

“It is better for children to love their parents than to be afraid of them,” she said. “You see, if they’re afraid, and they do something wrong, they don’t come out with it. It just piles up inside them and goes on getting worse. I think that’s what happened with Jimmy. At first he didn’t mean any harm, and there wasn’t any. And then he began telling lies about where he had been and what he had been doing. I found out quite by accident, and I didn’t get a chance to speak to him because he stopped coming to our house about then. Miriam-I don’t want to say anything about her that I needn’t-but I’ve got to make you understand that it wasn’t all Jimmy’s fault. She-she was-I don’t know how to put it, but I think that if she wanted something she would see to it that she got it. I don’t want to be unkind, but I think that she was like that. And Jimmy was-I don’t know how to put it-but he hadn’t a chance. Len did speak to him, but it wasn’t any use. He was-” she paused and said, “fascinated. But he didn’t kill her. You do know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I know that.” He got out a pocket-handkerchief and blew his nose. “Why are you telling me all this?” he said.

“I thought you ought to know. I’ll go now, Mr. Mottingley.”

Jenny came down to breakfast to find a very peculiar letter propped up beside her place at table. That is to say, it would have appeared very peculiar to anyone with a different background, but to Jenny it simply said Meg. Meg had a passion for writing letters, and she had no one to send them to. They weren’t popular with her brothers, who were away from home and might at least have pretended to be pleased when they got one, but they didn’t trouble. Jenny would have thought more of them if they had, but they were not to know that. Mac wouldn’t have cared, but Alan might have. So, in default of anyone else to whom she could write what she called a real letter, Jenny was the obvious person to practise on. But she had never had one through the post before. And it was addressed to Miss Jenny Forbes. That was strange. And the address was quite correct in Meg’s big untidy writing. She opened the envelope and read the letter inside. It said:

“Darling darling Jenny, why did you go away? We miss you dreadfully. At least I do, and if Joyce has any sense she does too. You never know with Joyce, and I didn’t want to make her cry which isn’t good for her, so I didn’t ask her. But I miss you quite dreadfully. Why did you go away? Please, please tell me. I don’t want to be a bother, and I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to, but do just write to me. You can’t have forgotten about us all in such a short time. I will never forget you. I promise most faithfully that I won’t, and that I’ll never tell anyone that you wrote. It’s quite horrid without you here, it really is. Mary says you are called Jenny Forbes now. She didn’t want to tell me, but I made her, so you won’t give her away, will you? She said you are really our cousin, which is very exciting and I am so glad. She says the whole village is talking about it, so it isn’t a secret any more. She says it was a secret that your father was married to your mother, and that no one knew about their being married, because he was killed when his aeroplane crashed in the war and she had an accident so that she couldn’t speak. And she died the day you were born, so no one knew. It’s a very sad story, isn’t it? I would have cried if I hadn’t been so interested. When you are very interested you can’t cry somehow, but I feel as if I could cry now. Please, Jenny, write and say that you haven’t forgotten me, and that you’ll come back and let us be all together again. I couldn’t bear it if you didn’t.

Your loving Meg.

P.S. Please send the answer to Mary’s house. I think you had better put two envelopes, the one inside to me and the outside one to Mary. Her name in case you have forgotten is Miss Mary Stebbins, Alingford. Goodbye. I do love you. Please, please do write to me.”

Richard, coming in, found Jenny crying.

“Darling what is it?”

She put Meg’s letter into his hand.

“She’s such a dear, and she really does love me. What can I do?”

He read the letter and whistled.

“Well, it’s out,” he said. “You must write to Mrs. Forbes.”

“I don’t want to,” said Jenny, looking up with drenched brown eyes.

“Darling, you really must. Caroline would say the same.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Now, Jenny-”

She turned to him, clutching at his hand, his arm. “Oh, Richard, no-no! I don’t want to tell them where I am-I don’t want them to know. It-it frightens me.”

“My dear child-” He put his arms round her, and she sobbed and clung to him. When she was a little calmer he said,

“Can I see the child’s letter?”