Britannia promised, tugged on her hostess’s anorak and gloves and went round to fetch her bike. The day had been overcast, but now it was clearing, to show a cold blue sky turning grey at the edges, and the wind, never absent for long, had gathered strength again. It surprised her to find that it was icy underfoot, but going cautiously down the drive she decided that she was safe enough. The lanes she intended to take were sheltered by the trees and thickets and their surfaces rough, and she was a seasoned cyclist. She knew where she was going, of course—to take one more look at the professor’s home. She wouldn’t be able to see much of it, only its gables and chimney pots, but they were better than nothing.
It would have helped, she reflected as she pedalled down the deserted road, if he had wished her goodbye. But he hadn’t. He had got out of his car and gone to the Veskes’ door with her and opened it, listened to her over-bright thanks with a little smile, assured her that he had enjoyed his evening just as much as she had, wished her the most casual of goodnights without once expressing a wish to see her again, and then stood aside so that she might go in. She couldn’t remember what she had mumbled, certainly nothing of sufficient interest to make him delay his departure. She had gone past him into the hall, afraid that she might burst into tears at any moment, and had heard the door close quietly behind her. There was no knock this time, either; she had heard the soft purr of the Rolls almost immediately, and its almost soundless departure.
She reached the crossroads and turned down the lane. There was still masses of time; she would be able to go further along the wall where the view of the house was much clearer. The lane was a bit tricky, its surface slippery between the ruts, but she went slowly, putting out a leg from time to time to steady herself. She paused as she reached the first vantage point. There was smoke rising from some of the chimneys, blown wildly by the wind, and she wondered who was there. Not Jake, he had mentioned that he had a teaching round in the afternoon and some private patients to see, but his mother perhaps and possibly the beautiful Madeleine, invited there to spend the evening. She might even be staying there. Britannia shivered; the wind was really icy and a few drops of sleet from a sky which had suddenly turned grey again made her wonder if she wouldn’t be wise to turn back. But the gap in the wall wasn’t far, it was a pity to come that distance and give up within half a mile. She mounted her machine once more and pedalled on.
It was worth it, she told herself, when she stopped once more. The house, light shining from its windows in the gathering dusk, looked beautiful. She imagined the cheerful Marinus trotting to and fro about his stately business and Jake’s mother sitting by the fire—she would be embroidering, something complicated and beautiful, to be handed down to other generations of the family in course of time. Britannia, deep in thought, mounted her bike once more, turned too sharply, skidded on an icy patch and fell off. She fell awkwardly and the machine fell on top of her, the handlebars catching her on the side of the head as she hit the ground, and knocking her out.
She came to quite quickly, feeling muzzy, and lay still for a minute, waiting for her head to clear before she attempted to get up. She was aware that she had a nasty headache, rapidly turning into an unpleasant throbbing, and she was also aware of the bitter cold.
‘Well, it won’t do to lie here, my girl,’ she admonished herself in a heartening voice. ‘Get to your feet, warm yourself up and get on your bike and go back as fast as you can.’
Sound advice, but not, she discovered, so easy to carry out. The cycle had fallen across her and she had to wriggle to one side to get free of it, and it was when she began to do this that she discovered that her left ankle was exquisitely painful. She essayed to move it cautiously, and a wave of nausea swept over her so that she was forced to keep still again.
‘Clever girl,’ said Britannia crossly, ‘broken your ankle, have you, or sprained it? Well, you’ll just have to roll yourself to one side.’
It took a few minutes, because the pain was bad and her headache was worsening, but she managed it at last and presently she essayed to sit up, but she jarred the ankle badly doing it and this time the pain made her do something she had never in her life done before—faint.
She came to presently and found herself wishing that she could have remained unconscious for a little longer, for her headache was steadily worsening and the pain in her ankle was making her feel sick. Nevertheless she tried to think what to do; she wouldn’t be missed for a little while yet, and even when she was, no one would have the least idea where to start looking for her. Somehow or other she would have to get herself back to the road. She wasn’t sure how she was going to do it, because it was at least a mile and the lane would be heavy going. She could try shouting, she supposed, and remembered that the professor had told her that there were no houses nearby. The gardener’s cottage she had seen was, she judged, too far off for anyone there to hear her, but it was worth a try. She called ‘Help!’ several times, upsetting the birds in the thicket around her and listening to her voice being carried away on the wind before deciding that it was a waste of time and breath. She would have to get moving and hope for the best.
She turned herself a little and looked at her ankle. It was already swollen; to get her shoe off would lessen the pain, on the other hand, she would need it for protection against the lane’s deplorable surface, and not only that, it was getting colder every minute and darker too. She rolled over once more and edged herself forward. She had no idea how long she had been crawling along so painfully when her injured ankle brushed against a sharp stone and she fainted again.
Tea was almost finished in the Veskes’ household before Joan remarked: ‘Britannia’s awfully late—I wonder if she’s in her room? I’ll see.’
She came downstairs again looking faintly worried. ‘She’s not there. I wonder where she went? Not to Hoenderloo, I remember she said she wouldn’t be going that way because I asked her to post a letter…’ She looked at her godmother. ‘Where does she go when she goes off on the bike?’
Mevrouw Veske thought deeply. ‘Well, dear, she has made a number of acquaintances, but not the sort who would go for a cycle ride with her. I daresay she goes on her own.’ Her nice face cleared. ‘How stupid of me—I expect she’s gone to say goodbye to that nice Professor Luitingh van Thien. He’s taken her out two evenings running, you know, and they seem to be getting on very well together,’ and when Joan was about to interrupt her: ‘Yes, dear, you’re surprised, but I’m sure she’s had very little time to tell you about that. You’ve been out a good deal yourself and there’s been the wedding to talk of. Shall I telephone him? He’ll be in the book and we have met, although we’re hardly on calling terms, I suppose.’
‘I’ll go,’ said Joan, and as she left the room: ‘Will he be home?’
‘I’ve no idea, but I believe it’s a very large house, there’s bound to be someone in it.’ Mevrouw Veske got to her feet. ‘I’ll do it, Joan. If they don’t understand English it will be a little difficult for you.’
A man answered her call, introduced himself as the house butler and told her that Miss Smith hadn’t been to the house that afternoon. ‘Although I will inform the professor when he returns; he may know something, mevrouw. If I might call you back?’
Marinus replaced the receiver, his cheerful face frowning in thought. The professor had returned home on the previous night in a towering rage all the more formidable for being held in check. He had gone straight to his room and that morning had left early for his consulting rooms in Arnhem, leaving no messages at all and certainly none about Miss Smith. Marinus trod with rather more speed than usual across the hall and down the passage which led to the kitchens, where he found Emmie busy at the kitchen table. He unburdened himself at some length and then asked her advice.