“If I had any idea it was this far, I would have arranged for a night in a hotel before we began the trip.” For the first time Lady Middlesex’s voice sounded tense and strained. “I do hope the man knows what he’s doing. The weather is really awfully bad.”

I was beginning to feel queasy from being in the middle and flung from side to side around those bends. Miss Deer-Harte’s bony elbow dug into my side. Queenie tried to brace herself in a corner but had a handkerchief to her mouth.

“You are to tell us if you wish to vomit,” Lady Middlesex said. “I shall make him stop for you. But you are to contain yourself until you can get out of the vehicle, is that clear?”

Queenie managed a watery smile.

“I’m sure it’s not far now,” Lady Middlesex said cheerfully. She leaned forward. “Driver, is it far now? Est it beau-coup loin?” she repeated in atrocious French.

He didn’t answer. At last we came to the top of the pass. A small inn was beside the road and lights shone out from it. The driver stopped and went around to open the bonnet, presumably to let the motor cool down. Then he disappeared inside the inn, leaving us in the freezing car.

“What’s that?” Miss Deer-Harte whispered, pointing into the darkness on the other side of the road. “Look, among the trees. It’s a wolf.”

“Only a large dog, I’m sure,” Lady Middlesex said.

I said nothing. It looked like a wolf to me. But at that moment the inn door opened and several figures emerged.

“Brigands,” Miss Deer-Harte whispered. “We’ll all have our throats slit.”

“Ordinary peasants,” Lady Middlesex sniffed. “See, they even have children with them.”

If they were peasants they certainly looked like a murderous bunch, the men with big black drooping mustaches, the women large and muscular. They poured out of the inn, a remarkably large number of them, peering into the motorcar with suspicious faces. One woman crossed herself and another held up crossed fingers, as if warding off evil. A third snatched a child who was venturing too close to us and held it protectively wrapped in her arms.

“What on earth is the matter with them?” Lady Middlesex demanded.

One old man dared to come closer than the rest. “Bad,” he hissed, his face right at the window. “Not go. Beware.” And he spat on the snow.

“Extraordinary,” Lady Middlesex said.

The chauffeur returned, driving back the people, of whom there was now quite a crowd. He closed the bonnet, climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine again. Words were shouted at us and we took off to a scene of people gesticulating after us.

“What was that all about, driver?” Lady Middlesex asked, hoping that he miraculously now understood English, but the man stared straight ahead of him as the road dipped precariously downward.