‘Down there and turn right – past the canal basin and on you go.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Barber,’ Margaret said. ‘Thank you for helping me.’ She felt sorry for the old lady.

But she was already shutting the door.

Margaret was so full of tense energy that she felt she could run and run endlessly. But even a hurrying walk away from that house, that street – from him – was all she could manage, since the mist was so thick and the dark still unbroken by dawn. But it felt wonderful to be outside, as if she had been locked in the little house for days instead of just a few hours. She walked as fast as she could manage, straining her legs, intent on getting as far away as possible.

It was hard to believe that he would not follow, that the old lady had really locked him in. It felt, as she hurried through the gloom, as if he might have the power to break out of any confinement and come after her.

Reaching the end of the street she turned as instructed, walked further, turned again and became unsure. Had the old woman left out a turning she should have made? They had come a different way before and she had no clear sense of the right direction. She slowed, feeling her way through the gloom. It’s all right, she tried to reassure herself. He can’t leave the house. He can’t find you. And yet it still felt as if he was everywhere, might at any moment jump out on her.

She wandered, hoping for the best. Nothing seemed to matter now that she had got out of there. She was on her way. She would get home today!

Turning a corner, she heard the clopping of hooves moving towards her. A sturdy brown-and-white horse emerged out of the gloom pulling a cart.

‘Please!’ She raised her hand and hurried towards it. ‘Could you stop a moment?’

‘Whoa.’ The middle-aged man reined in his horse. The animal’s aroma was reassuring, damp breath issuing from its nostrils, as was the bitter smell of coal from the cart. Its driver was well wrapped up in a coat and muffler, above which a kindly, sagging face looked out from under a cap.

‘I’m trying to get to the railway station,’ she said. ‘I’ve lost my bearings.’

‘The railway station? Well – you’re not too far.’ He looked carefully at her. ‘Are you all right, miss?’

Only then did Margaret realize that she still had Elsie Barber’s blanket bundled round her under her coat which was hanging open. She pulled the sides of it together, realizing she must look very dishevelled.

‘I . . . Yes. Thank you.’ She tried to sound in command of herself. ‘I need to leave Oxford.’

He stowed the reins and climbed off the cart. He had a fatherly air and she was not afraid of him.