Very soon after this conversation the house went quiet. Roseanne’s breathing slowed and steadied. Mo waited until she heard the major and his wife coming upstairs and shutting the door into their bedroom, then climbed out of bed and dressed hastily in the clothes Mr Theaker had lent her. She tied the headscarf under her chin, buttoned the long cardigan and put on the borrowed boots. They were too big but they were a great deal more comfortable than her battered and holey plimsolls; a good deal warmer, too. She kept a careful eye on Roseanne, but the older girl did not stir, and presently Mo let herself out of the bedroom and crept down the stairs. She had decided that if anyone queried her presence she would say she had to visit the privy, or perhaps that she was thirsty and needed a glass of water. However, though she had to be very careful in the kitchen because there were humped figures of boys and girls, blanket-wrapped, all over the quarry tiles, it was the work of a moment to slip into the back yard and close the kitchen door behind her. She glanced at the privy as she passed it, a lie already on her tongue should anyone emerge, but no one did. The jigger was in deep shadow on one side and bright moonlight on the other, but Mo did not care. She had known as soon as she entered the kitchen that Jimmy was not there, and now she was determined to find him. When she emerged on to the main road she stopped for a moment, trying to make up her mind which way to go. She knew of course that Jimmy had gone to Princes Park, but she also knew that he was a boy who always kept his promises, and he had promised to be at the major’s house by ten o’clock. Now it was nearer eleven than ten, and Mo knew that only two things could have stopped him. Either the scuffers had decided to wage war on the little sinners who stripped the holly from the hedges and bushes in Princes Park, or Cyril Huxtable had realised where he would probably find one or both of the Trewins and had pounced on Jimmy just when her brother thought himself safe. Then she remembered that there might be a third reason for Jimmy’s non-appearance: he might not have fully understood that he too was to come to the major’s house to sleep in safety for a few nights. If so, she supposed he might easily have crawled into the canvas shelter under Mr Theaker’s stall, knowing her to be safe and not realising that he, too, could have had a proper bed. This made up her mind in which direction to turn; she would go to Great Homer Street first. Silent as a little shadow, she began to steal quietly along the pavement towards her destination.

Fifteen minutes later she left Harry Theaker’s stall, disappointment causing the tears to well up in her eyes. In her heart she had almost convinced herself that Jimmy would be here, and now there were but the two alternatives. She hated to think of Jimmy in a police cell, but after a little thought realised that this was unlikely. The scuffers were there to bring law and order to the streets. They would scarcely throw anyone into prison for snapping off a few twigs of holly, let alone a boy of twelve. And that left what she most dreaded: that Cyril Huxtable had caught Jimmy and dragged him off to No. 4 Solomon Court, where he would try to beat the truth out of his victim, though of course since Jimmy did not know what they were supposed to have done it stood to reason that he couldn’t admit or deny anything either.