“What is it?” called my father.

“Well, sir, there’s someone on the road. Looks in distress.”

“Pull up,” ordered my father.

My mother laid a hand on my father’s arm.

“It’s all right,” he said, taking a gun from its place under his seat.

“Much better to drive on,” said my mother.

“It might be someone in real distress.”

“It also might be a trick. You never know with these gentlemen of the road.”

I looked out and saw a man limping towards the carriage.

“I’m in trouble,” he said. “Robbed of my purse and my horse…”

My father got out of the carriage and studied the man. “Get in,” he said.

My mother and I sat closer together to make room.

When the man was seated, my father said, “Whip up the horses,” and we were off.

The man was very well dressed, breathless and bewildered, and it was impossible then to suspect him of a trick. He was genuinely overwrought, and for some time found it hard to speak.

“I was riding along,” he said at length, “when a fellow stepped out and asked me the way to Nottingham. I told him and as I was talking three of them came out of the bushes and surrounded me. They had guns and commanded me to dismount and to hand over my purse. I had no alternative. I gave them what they asked. They took my horse and left me. Thank you for stopping. I am most grateful. I tried to stop one other carriage but it drove straight on.”

“Suspecting mischief,” said my father. “These robbers are getting a pest. Tis my opinion that we law-abiding citizens don’t get enough protection.”

The man nodded agreement.

“Well, sir, where do you want to be taken?”

“My home is just outside Nottingham. If you could drop me in the town where I am well known, I can find someone to take me home, I should be greatly obliged.”

“We’ll take you to your home,” said my father. “Is it far?”

“About a mile outside the town.”

“It will be simple to take you there. Just direct us, will you?”

“You are very good. My family and I will never forget your kindness.”

“It is only what travellers owe to each other. There ought to be more supervision on the roads.”

Our companion was beginning to recover. He told us his name was Joseph Barrington and he had a business in the town of Nottingham. “Lace,” he said. “As you know, Nottingham is one of the headquarters for lace-making in the country.”

“And your home is outside the town?”

“Yes. One would not want to live too near the factory. We are within easy reach and it is pleasant to be in the country. May I ask what part of the world you come from?”

“We come from Kent.”

“Oh, some way south. Have you been to Nottingham before?”

“No. I have business there and my wife and daughter are accompanying me.”

“That is a very pleasant arrangement. Could you ask your driver to turn off here. Straight ahead is the direct road into Nottingham. This road leads to my home.”

In due course he pointed to a house. It was large, imposing and built on a slight incline for commanding views of the countryside.

We turned in at the drive. Now we could see the house clearly. It must have been built about a hundred years ago and was characteristic of that time with its long windows—short on the ground floor, very tall on the first floor, slightly shorter on the next and completely square on the top. Looking at the door with its spider-web fanlight I thought it had an air of dignity which our Tudor residence lacked. The aspect was of simple good taste and elegance.

The door opened and a woman came out. She stared in astonishment as Mr. Barrington alighted.

“Joseph! What is it? Where have you been? We’ve been so worried. You should have been home hours ago.”

“My dear, my dear, let me explain. I have been robbed on the road … my horse and purse taken. Let me introduce these kind people who have rescued me and brought me home.”

My father had stepped out of the carriage and my mother and I followed.

The woman was middle-aged and rather plump and at any other time would have been called comfortable-looking. Now she was anxious and bewildered.

“Oh Joseph … are you hurt? These kind people … They must come in …”

A man came out of the house. He was tall and I guessed in his mid-twenties.

“What on earth … ?” he began.

“Oh Edward, your father—he’s been robbed on the road. These kind people …”

Edward took charge of the situation.

“Are you hurt, Father?”

“No … no. They only wanted poor old Honeypot and my purse. But there I was with nothing … nothing … and a good seven miles from home.”

The young man turned to us. “We are deeply grateful for the help you gave my father.”

“They must come in,” said Mrs. Barrington. “What are we thinking of? We are just about to serve dinner …”

My father said: “We have to get to Nottingham. I have urgent business there.”

“But we have to thank you,” said Mrs. Barrington. “What would have happened to my husband if he had been left there … unable to get home.”

“No one would stop … except these kind people,” added Mr. Barrington.

“They were all scared to,” replied my father. “They know something of these knavish tricks people get up to nowadays.”

“You stopped,” said Mrs. Barrington. “Otherwise my husband would have had to walk home. That would have been too much for him in his state of health. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You must come in and have a meal with us,” said Edward with the air of a man who is used to giving orders.

“We have to book rooms at an inn,” explained my father.

“Then you must come tomorrow night.”

My mother said we should be delighted.

“Very well, tomorrow. The name of the house is Lime Grove. Anyone will direct you here. Everyone in Nottingham will know the Barringtons.”

We said goodbye and as we drove away my mother said: “I’m glad we stopped and brought him home.”

“I have an idea,” my father reminded her, “that you tried to persuade me not to.”

“Well, those highwaymen can do such dreadful things.”

“I was terrified when you stepped into the road,” I added.

He gave me that look which I knew so well—slightly sardonic with the twitching of the lips.

“Oh, I was not in the least alarmed because I knew my daughter was there to look after me.”

“You are a rash man,” I said. “But I am glad you were tonight.”

“I look forward to dinner,” added my mother. “The family seem very agreeable.”

Then we were on the road to Nottingham.

We found a good inn in the town and my father was treated with the utmost respect. He seemed to be known, which surprised me. I had always been aware that he had a secret life which was involved in matters besides banking and his various business interests in London as well as the management of the estate. The secret life had taken him to France in the past and involved him and his son Jonathan in numerous activities. Jonathan had died because of his involvement; and Dolly was somehow caught up in the intrigue through the French spy Alberic who had loved her sister Evie. None of us could be entirely unaffected by the smallest action of those around us.

But such activities clearly had their advantages which were now borne home to me. I believed my father was a man who was capable of taking actions which might be impossible for most men.

My spirits were rising. He would use his influence to free Romany Jake.

My mother whispered to me when we were alone in that room which was to be mine and which was next to my parents’: “If anyone can save the gypsy, your father can.”

“Do you think he will?” I asked.

“He knows your feelings. My dear child, he would do anything he possibly could for you.”

That was a great comfort and I felt a good deal better than I had since that terrible moment when the door of Grasslands had opened and Romany Jake stood there while I realized that my father and the man Forby were behind me.