The Captive

by Виктория Холт

  “It might have been a pond at the end of the garden. All we really have is Ada and Witches’ Home. It will be rather like Thomas a Becket’s mother coming to England, her only knowledge of the English language being London and Gilbert and going through the streets of the capital calling Gilbert’s name.”

  “I’m glad you remember the history I taught you.”

  “Well, London is rather different from Witches’ Home and a great deal larger.”

  “I imagine Witches’ Home is a small village where every one will know everyone’s business.”

  “And where are we going to find this Witches’ Home.”

  “We’ll consult maps.”

  “Little villages are not marked on maps.”

  She was downcast but only for a few moments. Then her eyes sparkled.

  “I have it,” she said.

  “Professor Hapgood. That’s the answer.”

  “Who’s Professor Hapgood?”

  “My dear Rosetta, I don’t live in Oxford for nothing. Professor Hapgood is the greatest authority on the villages of England. It’s his passion … his life’s work. He can go right back to the Domesday Book and beyond. If there is a place called Witches’ Home in England, he will tell us in the winking of an eye. Ah, I can see your scepticism fast disappearing. But trust me, Rosetta, and Professor Hapgood.”

  How glad I was that Felicity knew. I was reproaching myself for not having told her before.

  Felicity and I went to the clinic. Lucas was improving and was now walking with great ease. He said he was no longer in pain with every step; all at the clinic were very pleased with his progress. He still had to rest a good deal and would be going home in about a week.

  I told him that I had taken Felicity into my confidence and we had plans for trying to locate Aunt Ada. He was amused at the prospect; he said the information we had to go on was very flimsy; however, he was impressed at the mention of Professor Hapgood, of whose reputation he was aware.

  I said that as Oxford was on the way I could go straight to Cornwall from there. I could not delay my return much longer and I should be at Perrivale perhaps a few days before Lucas returned to Trecorn Manor.

  “I shouldn’t hope for too much success in this new venture,” he warned me.

  “Even if you do find the place-and you might with Professor Hapgood’s help-you’ve still got the search for Aunt Ada.”

  “We know,” I told him.

  “But we’re going to try.”

  “Good luck,” he said.

  The next day Felicity and I left for Oxford where I was greeted in a most friendly fashion by James and the children. Felicity explained that she and I were taking a little trip and she would accompany me on part of the journey back to Cornwall, but only be away for a night or two.

  James was always understanding about the close friendship between myself and Felicity and he never raised objections to our taking a little time to be together. So that was easily settled and our first task was to get into touch with Professor Hapgood, who was delighted to help.

  He took us to his study which was lined with massive tomes; and it was clear that the prospect of a search delighted him.

  He could find no Witches’ Home, which we rather expected.

  “You said a child, under five mentioned the name. Well, it must be something that sounded similar. Witches’ Home. Let me see. There’s Witching Hill. Willinham … Willinunder-Lime. Wodenham. And what about Witchenholme. That might sound to a five-year-old like Witches’ Home. More than the others, I think. There’s Willenheime … well, those two would be the most likely.”

  “Hoime sounds more like home than heime,” I said.

  “Yes,” agreed the professor.

  “Let me see. Witchenholme is on the River Witchen … it’s hardly a river… a tributary of, let me see …”

  “A tributary sounds just right,” said Felicity.

  “The boy said there was water at the bottom of the garden.”

  “Let me look at Willenheime. No, there is no river there. It’s in the north of England.”

  “That can’t be the one. Where is Witchenholme?”

  “Not far from Bath.”

  I looked at Felicity with delight.

  “In the west,” I said.

  “Much more likely.”

  “We’ll try Witchenholme,” said Felicity.

  “And if it isn’t the one, we shall probably be troubling you again. Professor.”

  “It’s a great pleasure,” he said.

  “I pride myself I can produce the smallest hamlet that existed in England since the days of the Norman Conquest, and I like to have a chance to prove it. Now, let me see.

  Your nearest town would be Rippleston. “

  “Is there a railway?”

  “Yes, there’s a Rippleston station. Witchenholme would be no more than a mile or so out.”

  “We’re extremely grateful.”

  “Good luck in the search. And if it’s not the one, don’t hesitate to come back to me and we’ll try again.”

  As we left him I felt amazingly optimistic.

  “Now,” said Felicity, “We shall have to go through Witchenhoime as Mrs. Becket did through London, only we shall not be calling Gilbert but Ada.”

  We booked a room for the night at Rippleston, which proved to be a small market town.

  “We may have difficulty in locating Ada and may need two days to do it,” said Felicity.

  It was good to have her with me. I remembered how she had always thrown herself wholeheartedly into any project. It was one of those characteristics which had made her such a stimulating companion.

  All the way down in the train we chatted about how we would set about finding Ada, and what we should say to her when we found her. We had both made up our minds that we were going to find her, which was perhaps a little naive of us, but we were very happy to be together, and somehow seemed to slip back into the old days when most things were so exciting.

  When we arrived in Rippleston, we booked into our hotel and asked about transport. There was a trap and a man at the hotel who would drive guests where they wished to go. So that was settled quickly.

  We decided to waste no time and were soon rattling along the road on our way to Witchenholme.

  A hundred yards or so from the village was an inn called the Witchenholme Arms. Here we decided to stop and perhaps ask a few questions in the hope that someone might know of a Miss Ada Something who lived nearby. We arranged for the driver to wait with the trap at the inn.

  There was a middleaged woman at the counter serving ale and cider and we asked if she knew of anyone in the village named Ada. She looked at us as though she thought we were a little odd as well she might, and said: “Ada … Ada who?”

  “That’s what we’re not sure of,” said Felicity.

  “We knew her long ago and we can’t remember her surname … all we can think of is Ada.”

  The woman shook her. head.

  “Come in here much, does she?”

  “We don’t know,” I answered.

  “Ada …” She shook her head.

  “It’s mostly men who come in regular.”

  “I was afraid so,” said Felicity.

  “Well, thanks.”

  We came out of the inn and started to walk into the village.

  “Well, you’d hardly expect Aunt Ada to frequent the Witchenholrne Arms, would you?” said Felicity.

  The village was, as the Professor had told us, very small. And there was a river, yes and houses backing on to it.

  I felt sure this was the place.

  A man on a bicycle rode by. We were on the point of stopping him but I realized, as did Felicity, that he would think we were crazy if we stopped to ask if he knew someone called Ada. If only we had her surname, how much more plausible it would all have sounded.

  Felicity said suddenly: “Oh look, there’s the village store. Now if anyone would know, they might in there. Everyone would go in there at
some time or other surely …”

  We went into the shop. One had to step down and a bell overhead tinkled as the door was opened. There was a pungent smell of paraffin oil and the shop was crowded with goods of all descriptions fruit, cakes, biscuits, bread, sweets in glass bottles, vegetables, hams and poultry, notepaper, envelopes, fly-papers and much more.

  “Yes?” said a voice.

  Our hearts sank. It was a girl of about fourteen and her face was only just visible above the glass bottles of sweets on the counter.

  “We’ve come,” said Felicity, ‘to ask you if you know someone named Ada.”

  The girl stared at us in amazement.

  “We’re trying to find an old friend,” went on Felicity, ‘and all we can remember is that her name is Ada. We just wondered whether she lived around here . she might come into the shop as most people would, I suppose? “

  “What… ?” she stammered.

  “Do you know any of the people round here?”

  “No. I don’t live here … always. I’ve just come for a bit … I’m helping my aunt.”

  “Perhaps we could see her?”

  “Aunt…” she called.

  “Aunt Ada.”

  Felicity and I exchanged glances of wonder.

  “Aunt Ada …” whispered Felicity.

  “There’s people here wants to see you,” shouted the girl.

  “Half a tick,” said a voice.

  “I’m coming.”

  Was it possible? Could our search be ended? As soon as we saw the woman we knew this was not so. No one could mistake her for a witch.

  Never could this one have been Simon’s Aunt Ada. She was very plump, shaped like a cottage loaf, with a rosy, good-humoured face, untidy greying hair and very alert blue eyes.

  “Now what can I do for you ladies?” she said, beaming on us.

  “It’s a very strange request,” said Felicity.

  “We are looking for someone who, we believe, lives here, and we can’t recall her surname.

  All that we know is that her Christian name is Ada. “

  “Well, she’s not me. I’m Ada. Ada Mac Gee that’s me.”

  “Our Ada had a sister called Alice.”

  “Alice … Alice who?”

  “Well, we don’t know her name either. But she died. We just wondered if among the people here . and you must know most of them . there was an Ada. “

  I guessed she was the sort of woman who loved a gossip. She was naturally interested in two strangers who had come into her shop, not for apples or pears or a pint of paraffin oil, but because they were looking for an Ada.

  “You must know almost everyone in Witchenhoime,” I said, almost pleadingly.

  “Well, most of them come in at some time or other. It’s a bit far to go into Rippleston to shop.”

  “Yes, I should imagine so.”

  “Ada,” she said.

  “Well, there’s Ada Parker down at Green-gates … she’s not Parker any more now … she married again. It’s her third.

  We always call her Ada Parker . though not to her face. But Jim Parker was her first husband. Names stick here. “

  “Perhaps we’ll call on her. Are there any others?”

  “Well, there’s Miss Ferrers. I’ve heard she was an Ada. I remember the Adas … seeing as I’m one of them. I’ve never heard her called Ada, mind … but I’ve got a notion that’s her name.”

  “Yes, I can see why you remember the name. I think we were lucky we came to you.”

  “Well, I would if I could help you find this friend of yours, of course. Ada … yes, I’m sure Miss Ferrers is an Ada. ‘, I’ve heard it somewhere. Keeps herself to herself. A cut above the rest of us. I’m sure that’s what she thinks, any way.”

  “Did she have a sister, do you remember?

  “Couldn’t rightly say. She’s been in that cottage for years. I don’t recall a sister. It’s a pretty little place and she keeps it like a picture. Rowan Cottage, it’s called, on account of the tree outside.”

  “You’ve been so helpful to us,” said Felicity.

  “Thank you very much.”

  ‘, “Well, I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  “Good day,” we said, and came out. The bell rang as we opened the door and stepped into the street.

  “Perhaps we ought to have bought something,” I said.

  “She was most obliging.”

  “She didn’t expect that. She enjoyed talking to us. I think we’ll dispense with the much-married Mrs. Parker and go to her if the lady at Rowan Cottage fails us. I somehow feel that our Aunt Ada wouldn’t have had three husbands.”

  “Look,” I said.

  “The houses back on to the river.”

  We had walked through the street which seemed to be the whole of Witchenhoime without finding Rowan Cottage. We stood blankly staring about us. Then we saw a house some short distance from the rest and to our delight the rowan tree.

  “Well, she would be apart from the others,” said Felicity.

  “Remember, she thinks herself ” a cut above”. I imagine she will be formidable.”

  “Simon thought so.”

  “Come on, let’s beard the lioness in her den.”

  “What on earth are we going to say?

  “Are you Aunt Ada? Simon’s Aunt Ada?” How does one open a conversation like that? -‘ “We managed with the shop lady.”

  “I believe this one will be different.”

  Boldly I took the brass knocker and brought it down with an authoritative rat-tat. The sound reverberated through the house. There was a pause and then the door was opened.

  She stood before us-tall and thin with greying hair severely drawn back from her face into a knot at the back of her neck; her eyes behind thick glasses were shrewd and alert; her crisply white blouse came right up to her chin, held there by bone supports. A gold chain hung about her neck with what I presumed was a watch tucked in at her waist band.

  “Please forgive the intrusion,” I said.

  “Mrs. Mac Gee at the shop told us we should find you here.”

  “Yes?” she said, coolly enquiring.

  Felicity took over.

  “We are trying to find a lady called Ada, but unfortunately we don’t know her surname. Mrs. Mac Gee told us you were Miss Ada Ferrers and we wondered if you were the lady we sought.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know you.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. But did you by any chance have a sister named Alice who had a son called Simon?”

  I saw her flinch behind her glasses; her colour changed a little and I knew then that we had found Aunt Ada.

  She was suspicious immediately; “Are you from the Press?” she asked.

  “They’ve found him, have they? Oh … is it all going to start again?”

  “Miss Ferrers, we are not from the Press. May we come in and explain?

  We are trying to prove Simon’s innocence. “

  She hesitated. Then she stepped back uncertainly, holding the door open for us to pass into the house.

  The hall was small and very neat, with a hat stand on which hung a tweed coat and a felt hat hers obviously and on a small table there was a brass bowl and a vase of flowers.

  She threw open a door and we went into a sitting-room which smelt of furniture polish.

  “Sit down,” she said, and we did so. She sat facing us.

  “Where is he?” she asked.

  “We don’t know,” I said.

  “I must tell you that he was on a ship. I was also on that ship. We were shipwrecked and I survived with him. He saved my life and that of another man. We were taken to Turkey and there I lost sight of him. But during the time we were together, he told me everything. I am convinced of his innocence and I am trying to prove it. I want to see everybody who can tell me anything about him . anything that might be useful…”

  “How can you prove he didn’t do this terrible thing?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m trying to.�
�

  “Well, what do you want of me? You’re sure you’re not from the newspapers?”

  “I assure you we are not. My name is Rosetta Cranleigh. You may have read about my survival. There was something in the papers about it when I came home.”

  “Wasn’t there a man who was crippled or something?”

  “Yes, he was with us, too.”

  She frowned, still disbelieving.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “It sounds a bit odd to me. And I’ve had enough of it. I don’t want to hear another word. I knew it would go wrong right from the beginning.”

  “You mean … when he was a boy?”

  She nodded.

  “He ought to have come to me. I would have taken him in.

  Not that I wanted a child . I’ve never had anything to do with children . but someone would have had to have him and she was my sister. There were only the two of us. How could she have got caught up in that sort of thing? “

  “It’s that which we think might help us,” I said tentatively.

  “If we could go back right to the beginning …”

  “How’s that going to prove he didn’t do it?”

  “We’re hoping it might help. We feel we can’t ignore anything… I got to know him very well. We were together in most extraordinary circumstances. We escaped in a boat and drifted on to an island … an uninhabited one. We had this tremendous adventure together. We got to know each other very well, and I’m convinced he couldn’t have killed anyone.”

  “He was caught red-handed.”

  “I believe that could have been arranged.”

  “Who’d arrange a thing like that?”

  “It’s what we have to find out. I want your help. Please, Miss Ferrers, he’s your nephew. You want to help him, don’t you?”

  “I don’t see how J can. I hadn’t set eyes on him since he was taken away.”

  “By Sir Edward Perrivale?”

  She nodded.

  “Why did Sir Edward take him?”

  She was silent. Then she said: “All right. I’ll tell right Tom the beginning. Alice was beautiful. Everyone said so. t was a curse in a way. If she hadn’t been, this wouldn’t iave happened to her. She was a fool… soft as they come. jentle, loving and all that… but she had no sense at all. Her father owned a nice little inn on the other side of Bath. t was a profitable place. Alice and I used to help with the quests. Then one night Edward Perrivale came. He saw Mice … and kept coming. I warned her. I said, ” He’ll bel0 good to you. ” She could have had John Hurrell who iad a sizeable farm, and he wanted to marry her. But no, t had to be this Edward .. “