“Romany Jake saved us. You have to admit that.”

“He’s a rogue, like all of them. If they are not off by dawn tomorrow, there’ll be trouble for them.”

“That man with the knife …”

“Ready to use it, too.”

“And, Father, you had nothing.”

“I wish I had brought a gun with me.”

“I’m glad you didn’t. You had me instead, I was better than a gun.”

He laughed at me. I believed he was very touched because I had insisted on going with him.

“There’s no doubt whose daughter you are,” he said. “Jessica, forget I said this, but I’m proud of you.”

“I’m so glad I insisted on coming with you.”

“You think it would be the end of me if you hadn’t, don’t you? You’re kidding yourself. I’ve been in tighter spots. What beats me is that such a thing could happen on my land in broad daylight. Another thing … not a word of this to your mother.”

I nodded.

And as we rode home each of us was too emotionally stirred for words.

The next morning the gypsies left and there was lamentation in the kitchen because of the departure of Romany Jake.

LIFE SEEMED QUITE DULL after the gypsies had gone. We were all dismayed to hear of Napoleon’s great victory at Austerlitz that December. It seemed that he was not beaten yet. Trafalgar had merely robbed him of sea power and he was anxious to show that his armies were supreme.

However, we settled into the usual routine: lessons, rides, walks, visiting the sick of the neighbourhood with comforts. It was only with the preparations for Christmas that life became eventful again. Bringing in the log, hunting for mistletoe, cutting the holly, and all the baking that went on in the kitchens; selecting the gifts we were giving and speculating on what would be given to us: the usual happenings of the Christmas season.

Christmas came and went and it was January, three months after the gypsies had vacated our woods. I had not forgotten Romany Jake; I believed I never should. He had made a marked impression on me. I found myself thinking of him at odd moments. I was sure he had been attracted by me in a special sort of way; and there was no doubt that he had had an effect on me. He made me feel that I was no longer a child; and that there were many things I could learn and which he would teach me. I felt frustrated because he had gone before I could understand the meaning of this attraction between us.

The winds were blowing in from the north bringing snow with them. We had fires all over the house. I loved fires in the bedrooms; it was pleasant to lie in bed and watch the flames in the grate—blue flames which were due to the salty wood which was brought up from the beach after storms. It was great fun going down to collect it and to burn the pieces we had personally found; I always said that the pictures in the blue flames were more beautiful than any others.

Outside the wind buffeted the house; and there we were warm and cosy with our fires round which we sat roasting chestnuts and telling uncanny stories—the same which we told every year.

It was the middle of January, during an icy spell, when Dolly Mather came over to Eversleigh in a state of panic. She asked for young Mrs. Frenshaw. She seemed to have a special feeling for Claudine. I happened to come in just as Claudine was coming down to the hall, so I heard what was wrong.

“It’s my grandmother … Oh, Mrs. Frenshaw, she’s gone.”

“Gone!” For the moment I thought she was dead for people say “gone” because they fight shy of saying the word “dead” and try to make the act of dying less tragic by calling it something else.

Dolly went on: “She’s gone. I went to her room and she’s not there. She’s just gone …”

“Gone!” echoed Claudine. “How can she be? She found it hard to get about. Where could she have gone on a day like this? Tell me exactly …”

“I think she must have gone last night.”

“Oh no … Dolly, are you sure?”

“I’ve searched the house. She’s nowhere to be found.”

“It’s impossible. I’d better come over.”

“I’ll come too,” I said.

Claudine went up to her room to get her coat and snow boots. Dolly looked at me, staring in that disconcerting way she had.

“I don’t know where she can have gone,” she said.

“She can’t be far off. She was almost bedridden.”

Claudine came down and we walked over to Grasslands. There were only two servants there; the man who managed the small estate lived in a cottage half a mile away and his wife also helped in the house.

Dolly took us up to Mrs. Trent’s bedroom.

“The bed has not been slept in,” I said.

“No. She couldn’t have gone to bed last night.”

“She must be in the house somewhere.”

Dolly shook her head. “She’s not. We’ve looked everywhere.”

Claudine went to the cupboard and opened the door. “Has she taken a coat?” she asked.

Dolly nodded. Yes, she had taken a coat.

“Then she must have gone out.”

“On a night like last?” asked Dolly. “She would have caught her death.”

“We’ve got to find her,” said Claudine. “She must have had some sort of breakdown. But where could she have gone?”

Dolly shook her head.

“I’ll go back to Eversleigh,” said Claudine. “We’ll send some men out to look for her. It’s going to snow later on. Where on earth can she be? Don’t worry, Dolly. We’ll find her. You stay here. Get a fire going in her bedroom. She may need to be warmed up when she gets back.”

“But where is she?” cried Dolly.

“That’s what we have to find out. Come along, Jessica.”

As we trudged back to Eversleigh, Claudine said: “What a strange thing … That old woman. She had difficulty in walking up and down the stairs. I can’t think what this means. Oh dear, I do hope she is all right. I can’t think what will become of Dolly if anything happened to Mrs. Trent.”

“It’s Dolly who really cared for Mrs. Trent.”

“But Dolly … all alone in the world.”

“She can’t be far away,” I said.

“No. They’ll soon find her. But if she has been out all night … in this weather …”

“She must have sheltered somewhere.”

As soon as we returned to Eversleigh and told them what had happened search parties were organized. As predicted it started to snow and the strong winds were making almost a blizzard. The search went on all through the morning, and it was not until late afternoon when Mrs. Trent was found, not by one of the searchers, but by Polly Crypton. Polly had been out—bad as the weather was—to take a potion to old Mrs. Grimes, in one of the cottages, who suffered terribly from rheumatism and had run out of her medicine. Coming back Polly had stumbled over something close to her garden gate. To her horror she had discovered that it was a woman, and looking closer had recognized Mrs. Trent.

It was clear to Polly that she had been dead some time. She hurried to give the alarm, and at last Mrs. Trent was brought back to Grasslands.

Several of us were there—my mother, Claudine, David, Amaryllis and myself. The doctor had come. He said that the effort of walking so far would have put a great strain on her impaired health; it was his opinion that exhaustion had been the main cause of her death; and even if that had not been the case she would have frozen to death.

“Whatever possessed her to go out in such weather?” cried Claudine.

“She must have been temporarily out of her mind,” said my mother.

“It is Dolly who worries me,” went on Claudine. “We shall have to take special care of her.”

Poor Dolly! She was like one in a dream. She spent a great deal of time at Enderby where she was warmly welcomed by Aunt Sophie—herself the victim of misfortune, she was always ready to show sympathy to those whom life had treated ill.

The day of the funeral came. Claudine arranged it all. Dolly had listlessly stood aside and accepted help. We all attended the church and followed the coffin to the grave. Poor Dolly, chief mourner, she looked so frail and white; and at times of emotion that deformity in her face seemed more prominent. Even Aunt Sophie attended in deep black with a black chiffon hood hiding half of her face; she looked very strange standing there at the grave like some big black bird, a prophet of doom. But Dolly kept close to her and clearly drew more comfort from her than from Claudine who was doing so much to help.