Wesley Baines could have held a policy issued by this company, and Mrs Baines might have gone to the London office, and she could have said, ‘Can I borrow an envelope and use your typewriter for a minute?’ Or she might be employed by the firm in some capacity.

In either case, she could be reached through this address.

Miss Mayfield sat down and wrote a carefully worded letter:

‘I was very pleased to hear from you,’ she wrote, ‘and I hope that everything will go well for you and Sydney in your new surroundings. Believe me, I shall be very cautious. You could help me in what I am determined to do without harm to yourself. Could we meet, in a place of your choosing, very soon?’

She posted the letter in Selbury. After a time, it was returned to her by the postal authorities. Someone had written, ‘Unknown at this address.’

19

THE TERM MOVED ON. EACH DAY WAS A LITTLE shorter than the one before, and as the evenings darkened, Miss Mayfield would look ahead at what she had to do and inwardly she would quail.

It was with a feeling of recognizing a disaster long expected that she saw, one morning halfway through October, Ethel’s place empty when the school assembled. She had actually asked: ‘Does anyone know anything about Ethel?’ when every face swivelled to the door behind her – the door to the cloakroom. Turning quickly, Miss Mayfield saw Mrs Rigby, standing exactly where she had stood when she had come to take Ethel to the dressmaker’s, but in a very different state of mind and body. She looked genuinely distraught, her face very pale and her eyes wild. Having caught Miss Mayfield’s attention, she stepped back into the cloakroom, making a sign that she wished to be followed. When Miss Mayfield joined her, she said hoarsely:

‘Shut the door. I don’t want it spread abroad yet. I hoped she’d come to school. I hoped she’d be here. Now I don’t know what to do.’

She leaned against the wall and held her hand to her breast. The prim voice and manner of one who has been in ‘good service’ had deserted her, together with the composure which had made her such a slippery adversary.

‘You don’t know where Ethel is?’ asked Miss Mayfield.

‘She’ve stayed out a night once before and come to school. So I hoped . . .’

‘Had you been unkind to her again?’

‘May I drop dead if I laid a finger on her, or said a harsh word. I’d got sausages – her favourite – cooking for her tea, and she went off after the rabbit food and never come back.’

‘Did you look last night? Surely . . .’

‘Miss, I took a torch and I called and I called, and I hunted over every inch where she could’ve been. Hours I searched. Then, as I say, I reckoned she’d done like she done before.’