by Betty Neels
There was no time to give it another thought. The kitchen was ordered chaos, with the caterer's men milling around and trays of canapes and tiny sandwiches being filled and filled again.
"It was a delightful party," observed Lady Wesley to Miss Mudd as she was helped to her bed at two o'clock in the morning-a sentiment not echoed by the hard workers in the kitchen.
A few more days of brilliant sunshine gave way to threatening banks of cloud and an oppressive humidity, with an occasional rumble of far-away thunder. Except for the gardener, who was wishful for a nice drop of rain, the change in the weather wasn't welcome. "And it'll be more than a nice drop," declared Cook crossly. "My corns are shooting something terrible."
A prophecy fulfilled the following morning with a heavy downpour, which filled the gutters on the roof and turned the gravel sweep before the house into a soggy mess. There was a thunderstorm that night too, and when Molly went over to Sarah's cottage to fetch her a clean apron while she was busy mopping up in one of the attics where there was a leaky tile, she left the door open while she took the apron from a drawer. Charles, rendered jittery by the storm, slid through the doorway and made off.
His absence wasn't discovered for some hours, and it was only then that Molly remembered about leaving the door open. "He can't have gone far," she said hopefully. "Oh, Sarah, I'm that sorry, I'll hunt for him this evening as soon as I've finished my work."
Sarah said, "Don't worry, he'll come back. It's going to rain again and he hates getting wet."
He didn't return that evening and Sarah, wrapped in a borrowed raincoat and with her head tied up in an unbecoming plastic hood, spent the remaining hours of that day searching for him, and at first light was up again scouring the fields and hedges. There was no sign of Charles.
Everyone was very kind-the gardener and the gardener's boy both combed the garden, and even Knott, driving into Bedford on some errand, went slowly, on the look-out for Charles' portly frame. When she had an hour or two off, Sarah went down to the village on Molly's bike, asked if anyone had seen him and left a large notice at the village stores, but there was still no Charles.
He had been missing for three days when Sarah had her day off. She knew exactly what she was going to do. She had early tea with Molly, cut herself some sandwiches, put an apple in her pocket and set off, intent on working her way systematically in a wide circle round the house and the grounds. It was late afternoon and several miles from the house in densely wooded country that she found him, caught in a rabbit snare.
A foot or so from him she stumbled, threw out an arm to save herself and, as she fell, she felt another snare tighten about her arm. She had fallen awkwardly, with the arm flung out behind her in such a fashion that she was unable to get at it, nor could she get any nearer Charles. But, by dint of stretching out the other arm, she was able to slip a finger in the loop around his chest and ease its tightness.
She lay for a minute or two, deciding what to do first. Charles looked in a poor way-if she took her hand away he might struggle, and the wire would tighten and perhaps kill him. On the other hand, without her fingers she wasn't sure how she could free her own arm. She tried gentle tugs, but the wire tightened alarmingly, so she gave that up and lay spreadeagled in the dense hedge, trying to remember if she had passed any farms recently. She had to admit at length that she had been searching a lonely stretch of country for the last half-hour or so, and had seen no living creature, let alone a house.
Stilling a rising panic, she took a good breath and shouted. She shouted at intervals for what seemed like a long time, and the summer day was darkening when she gave up. Charles was silent now, and her finger under the wire had grown numb. "What a pair of sillies we are," she told him, speaking in a loud voice to cheer them both up. "I think we may have to spend the night here. At least there are two of us, and someone must come in the morning."
The Professor had seen the last of his private patients for the day, and was reading his notes while he drank the cup of tea his nurse had brought for him. When the phone rang he stretched out a reluctant arm, his eyes still on his case-sheets. His 'Nauta' was a thought terse, for he had had a full day and the prospect of a quiet evening and a good dinner might be endangered. But Lady Wesley's voice sounded agitated in his ear, and he said at once, "Aunt Beatrice-is something wrong? Are you ill?"
"I am worried," said Lady Wesley. "Sarah is missing. Her cat, Charles-you know-disappeared three days ago, and although he has been searched for he has still not returned. Sarah had a day off today, and I am told that she left before seven o' clock this morning to look for him-she has not yet returned. I know it's only twelve hours, but she told Molly, the kitchen maid, that she was going to find him at all costs."
"Has she been searched for?" The Professor's voice was quiet.
"Knott took the car and drove around all the local roads, and two of the local farms he visited said they had spoken to her in the early morning, when she asked them if they had seen the cat. Should I get the police? One hears such awful tales about girls out alone…"
The Professor, still very quiet, said, "No, I'll drive up this evening. I'll leave in half an hour. I'll have Trotter with me-she knows Sarah and she may pick up her scent. The grounds have been searched and the village visited?"
"Of course. Cork organised everything. He is most concerned. Everyone is fond of Sarah such a sensible girl."
The Professor gave a bitter little smile and said nothing. "I'll see you shortly," he said, and hung up.
He phoned the hospital, spoke to his registrar, left his nurse to close his consulting-rooms and drove himself home, where he told Brindle that he was driving to Lady Wesley's at once and would Mrs. Brindle make him a couple of sandwiches and some coffee.
"Shall I pack a bag, sir?" asked Brindle, masking curiosity with a bland face.
"No time. Miss Fletcher and her cat have gone missing. I'm taking Trotter up there-she's pretty good at picking up a scent."
"An excellent idea, if I may say so. I'll attend to the sandwiches at once, sir."
Brindle hurried to the kitchen to tell an indignant Mrs. Brindle that the delicious meal she had ready for the Professor wasn't going to be eaten, although she brightened at his news. "Depend on it," she observed, slicing ham for sandwiches, "he's taken a fancy to that nice young lady…"
"More than a fancy-I'm of the opinion that he intends to make her his lady wife."
His wife nodded in pleased agreement.
The Professor, when necessary, could be remarkably quick-he left within the half-hour and, once free of the outskirts of the city, raced up the M 1 until he turned off on to the A5140. Shotley Park lay a short distance from the road and only a few miles away. He didn't slacken speed until he drove between the pillars of the front entrance and drew up before the big door.
Cork was waiting for him, his face a mass of worried wrinkles. "Lady Wesley is in the small sitting-room, sir," he said, and led the way.
Lady Wesley, who seldom worried about anyone but herself, was uneasy. "It is so unlike Sarah-she is a most considerate girl, and would never do anything to inconvenience me."
The Professor nipped a few sharp words in the bud and said mildly, "Well, Aunt Beatrice, I dare say she has encountered some hindrance and has been unable to get word to you. I'll take Trotter and see if I can discover what has happened."
"But my dear boy, it is past eight o'clock."
"All the more reason not to waste time. I'll have a word with Knott if I may, and then be on my way." He added gently, "Don't wait up, my dear," and smiled a little at her complacent, "Indeed I shan't-this has been a great shock to me."
The Professor forbore from remarking that it had been a great shock to him, too.
Knott was in the servants' hall, ringed around with the rest of them. He produced a map of the area and offered help. "We're all that worried, sir," he observed. "Such a nice young lady as Sarah is. That's right, isn't it, Mr. Cork?"
"Indeed, yes. Just
say the word, sir, and we'll do all we can."
"You have already done a great deal, for we know where she is not, thanks to your careful searching, Cork." The Professor sat down at the table and studied the map. Presently he said, "Rabbits-where do the locals set their snares?"
"Never thought of that," said Knott. "On the edge of Baynard's Wood-' he pointed to the map "-and here, a bit deeper in and then along the bank bordering Dingle Farm. A good two miles from here, that is, and Baynard's Wood is all of four miles and pretty dense." His glance fell on Trotter, sitting patiently by her master.
"Trotter will get through," said the Professor quietly. "Now, I shall want a pair of stout gloves, some wire-cutters and some water in a small flask. I have brandy and a torch in the car. And Knott, I shall be glad of your help. I shall go first to Dingle Farm and then on to Baynard's Wood. If I find them I'll bring them back here, but if there is no sign I shall come back here by six o' clock, and we will make further plans. If I find them and there is a telephone within reasonable distance, I shall ring you and ask you to bring my car to the nearest point."
He took the keys from the pocket and handed them to Knott. "Cork, you will take any messages, will you not? Phone them through to Dingle Farm if you hear anything before midnight. If it is later than that, I'll leave you to decide what to do for the best. I do not think that Sarah can be very far away, but if we haven't found her by the morning we shall have to alert the police." He got to his feet. "I'll be off."
It was a light evening. He set off at a brisk pace with Trotter, pleased at the idea of a long walk, keeping step. With an eye on the map he began to walk in a wide circle around the grounds of the house, stopping at each small cottage or farm. He was sure that he was on the right track. for Trotter, having sniffed at one of Sarah's aprons in the kitchen, had picked up the scent. But although several of the people he asked had seen Sarah very early that morning, no one had seen her since.
The Professor combed the bank bordering Dingle Farm without success, and continued around the perimeter he had marked on the map, pausing every now and then to call and listen, exploring every copse and thicket. It was almost eleven o'clock and a lovely moonlit night when he reached Baynard's Wood. It stretched for a mile or more along the foot of a low hill and extended for twice that distance halfway up it. The Professor patiently walked its length, stopping frequently to calll and examine the thick undergrowth, but without success…
At its outermost end he began a slow, difficult process diagonally, going very carefully now, giving Trotter plenty of time. Despite the moonlight, the wood was dark and the undergrowth dense.
They were well into the centre of it, going uphill now, when Trotter checked, gave a rumbling bark and began to push her way into the bushes. The Professor stood still and called, and was rewarded by a faint cry as he set off after Trotter, pushing his way steadily through the bushes. He paused several times to listen, but the dog kept steadily on until she reached a narrow path, almost unused, and trotted ahead, whining.
The Professor, close on Trotter's heels, held Sarah in his torch's beam for a moment, taking in the awkward way in which she was lying and Charles, both of them held by snares. The next moment he was kneeling beside her.
"Keep perfectly still," he told her, "while I cut the wire." He sounded cheerful, ignoring her tear-stained face. "Any idea how long you've been lying here?"
"It was light," mumbled Sarah. She gave a hiccuping sob. "Do please see to Charles."
He had cut the wire and was running a hand over her arm. "Nothing broken, I think, but a very nasty bruise. It will hurt for a while, I expect. Now you're going to sit up, ready to hold Charles."
His matter-of-fact voice acted like a tonic. With his help she struggled up and, with the faithful Trotter blowing softly into her face, watched while the Professor freed Charles, examining him very gently, and then giving him some water and tucking him into her good arm.
"He'll die," said Sarah in a sad little voice.
"Nonsense. A visit to the vet, several good meals and he will be as good as new. Drink this."
When she said feebly that she wouldn't, he poured the brandy down her throat. It warmed her even though she coughed and spluttered. "How did you know I was here?" she asked uncertainly.
"I didn't. Trotter found you."
"Yes, but how?"
"Don't ask so many questions." He glanced at his watch. It was very nearly one o'clock in the morning, and there was no hope of getting Sarah and Charles back to any kind of path. With a sigh he sat down beside her and put a great arm around her shoulders. "As soon as it's light, we'll start for home. Does your arm hurt?"
She nodded, and sniffed forlornly.
"Once the circulation is going again it will feel better." He uncorked his flask again. "Drink some more brandy." And, when she murmured, he insisted, "Do as I say, Sarah."
So she drank some more brandy. "Charles is purring," she whispered.
"He has every good reason to do so." The Professor rubbed Trotter's ears, aware that he was perfectly happy, sitting there in a good deal of discomfort with an arm around Sarah and the prospect of a sleepless night before him. He smiled to himself in the darkness-it had been an effort to stay calm when he had found her. He said quietly, "Close your eyes and go to sleep."
She tucked her head into his shoulder. "You won't go away?"
"Don't be silly, girl," he said very gently.
So she slept with Charles pressed close to her, while the Professor and Trotter sat side by side, waiting for the dawn to break. They were very still, but from time to time the Professor dropped a kiss on to Sarah's tousled head.
CHAPTER NINE
WHEN Sarah woke a pearly dawn was turning to morning, and just for a moment she had no idea where she was. Then she remembered and lifted her face to look at the Professor. He was tired and he needed a shave, but his "Good morning, Sarah," was uttered in the cool, polite tones she had heard daily in the clinic at St Cyprian's. It had the effect of making her sit as upright as she could and say in a wooden voice, "I expect you'd like us to go." She cast an anxious look at Charles. "I'm not quite sure where we are…"
"I passed a farm about a mile back. Will you stay here while I see if they have a telephone? Knott will bring the car as near as he can, once he knows where we are." He was taking off his tie as he spoke. "This will have to do for a sling. Your arm will be painful once you start moving."
Indeed, it was swollen and bruised, and there was a deep indentation where the wire had bitten into her arm. She had to bite her lip to stop from crying out as he arranged the sling carefully and tied the tie around her neck.
"There's my brave girl." He kissed her cheek very gently and got to his feet. "Trotter will stay here to keep you company, and I'll be back as quickly as I can." He put a hand on the dog's head. "Stay, Trotter."
She sat very still after he had gone, afraid to move, her nerves on edge, longing to have a good weep and quite determined not to. Trotter was a comfort, of course, leaning her bulk against Sarah, but she longed for the Professor to come back.
Which he did just as she was at screaming-point."Knott is on his way," he began in a matter-of fact voice, which prevented the scream just in time. "There's a lane behind the farm, if you can manage to walk there. It's on the narrow side, but I think he'll manage." He stooped down and lifted her to her feet. "There-stand a moment you must be cramped."
She stood with his arm around her, feeling odd because her insides were empty, longing for a meal and her bed and a hot bath, and willing to forgo the lot if she could stay just as she was with his arm holding her in a warm, reassuring clasp. After a minute or two she said, "I'm sure I can walk quite easily." She looked up at him, and surprised a look on his face which was so quickly gone that she supposed that she must have fancied it.
He said easily, "All right, let's go," and began to make his slow, careful way between the trees, his arm still around her shoulders, steadying her.
It seemed
to her that they would never reach wherever it was they were going, and after the third stop she asked, "Is it much further?"
"Ten minutes. Are you all right?"
She nodded-if she said anything now she might burst into a flood of tears. They went on again with Trotter leading the way, and sure enough presently the trees thinned and petered out into a gentle slope covered in bracken and coarse grass, and beyond its further hedge was a rutted lane, little more than a track running past a farm up into the low hills beyond. Knott was there, standing by the Rolls, and he came hurrying forward as soon as he saw them.
"Good man," said the Professor. "We'll have to reverse out of here, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir. Sarah's not hurt? And the cat?"
"They're both all right. Let's get her up beside me in front-you get in the back with Trotter. Keep an eye open for me, will you?"
It was a good half-mile before the track opened into a narrow lane, and that in its turn, after a mile or so, joined a wider road. Ten minutes later Sarah was being lifted out of the car and, still with Charles clasped firmly to her, carried through the door of her cottage.
Mrs. Legge was already there, waiting for them.
"Bed, after a quick shower," the Professor said, "then I'll take a look at that arm. Will you see to that, Mrs. Legge?"
"Of course, sir. I'll have Sarah cosy in bed in no time. That's a nasty arm."
