Peggy trudged up the steps and Ron swiftly changed into his old clothes and sturdy walking boots while Harvey watched him in puzzlement.

Ron stripped the blankets off his bed and rolled them with the sheet into a tight bundle which he tied together with garden twine, checked that his lamping torch had new batteries, wrapped a thick scarf round his neck and crammed his woolly hat over his ears. Slinging the bundle over his shoulder, he picked up his small haversack which contained a first aid kit and a flask of brandy.

Stomping up the steps into the kitchen he was met by the sight of Cordelia and Peggy sitting wide-eyed and fearful by the fire. ‘I’ll send Harvey back when I find her,’ he assured them, reaching for Rita’s colourful scarf which was lying on the kitchen table.

‘But what if the others find her first? How will we let you know? How are you so sure you know where she is?’

Ron had no answer to all of these questions, for he was acting purely on instinct, and his knowledge of the young girl he’d known since she was a baby. He left the house with Harvey, and set a fast pace along the alleyway and up into the hills.

It was an unusually cold, damp night, the temperature dropping rapidly, and the very fact that Rita was still out there somewhere told him she must be in trouble. Rita was a thoughtful, sweet girl, and no matter how troubled she was, she would never knowingly cause Peggy worry like this.

Ron tramped up the steep hill and was soon engulfed in the thick fog that was rolling in from the sea. Visibility was down to a few feet, and the dampness in the air would be washing away any scent. He gently grasped Harvey’s jaw, looked him in the eye and held Rita’s scarf to his nose. ‘Seek, Harvey. Find our little Rita.’

Harvey snuffled at the scarf then ran round in a wide circle, nose to the ground, tail stiff with concentration.

Ron doubted he’d come across it yet, especially if the girl had brought her motorbike up here, so while Harvey was tracking back and forth, he set off towards the ruined barn.

He could see very little and the fog would have been debilitating to anyone who didn’t know these hills as well as he did. Sure-footed, his sense of direction honed by many years at sea and in these hills, Ron kept going until he could make out the darker shadows of the ruined barn emerging through the swirling fog. Although Peggy had said it had already been checked, he gave it a cursory inspection anyway, and Harvey got quite excited for a moment, but then he lost the scent again, so Ron turned northward and began to descend towards the forest and farms of the Cliffe estate.