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.