‘I ain’t worrying about myself. Thass Em. There’s another thing, too. Maybe I shouldn’t mention this . . .’ Suddenly, the pupils of his eyes dilated, flooding the blue, and Miss Mayfield knew they were now near the heart of the matter. ‘All this running round to owd Mrs Rigby’s. That ain’t so long ago since she couldn’t bear the mention of the owd crone – called her a cruel owd witch and all sorts. Now, every so often, when Syd’s abed, she’ll say, “I’ll just pop round and hev a chat with Mrs Rigby.” I can’t get outa my mind that down Curlew Lane there’s a cut through the wood to Tharkell’s place. She nursed him once, and he give her a lovely handbag; and he do hev a way with him.’

Taking precedence of everything else in Miss Mayfield’s mind was a feeling of affront; really, people shouldn’t come and sit down in one’s home and say such things! So embarrassing, and quite uncalled for.

Then, seeing how wretchedly miserable and puzzled he looked, she rebuked herself for such a heartless and conventional reaction. She said gently:

‘I’m sure you can put all thought of that out of your mind, Mr Baines. I know why your wife has changed her attitude towards Mrs Rigby. You as good as told me yourself. Do you remember? You said Mrs Baines believed the old woman could put a spell on you. I think she does believe it. I think she blamed Mrs Rigby for Sydney’s illness, and thinks that in some way she cured him, so now she is grateful and friendly.’

Working at his hands as though bent upon dislocating every finger, he said:

‘Ah, but, you see, that was one thing We did hev out. I tackled Em; about the third time she went round there, I said “No time ago you was saying she give you the shingles and poured boiling water over Ethel, and now you go visiting her.” Know what she said? She said Mrs Rigby was a poor harmless old woman, and she’d sadly misjudged her. But that ain’t true – at least not wholly. Em still hate her. I can see the look come over her face even when she say she’s going round there. You don’t live alongside a woman, close, for nearly fourteen years without learning something. Em don’t feel any different about Mrs Rigby to what she did two months ago. She may act different, but even that I doubt. Two, three times every week, off down Curlew Lane. There’s more to it.’

‘I think so, too; but there’s very little that I, or you, can do about it. I could tell you what I suspect; but that would do you no good; and in any case I have almost told you.’