cold but cheerful face appeared at the window. The professor opened it and a policeman, muffled against the weather, poked his head in.
‘Road’s closed ahead, sir. Are you going far?’
‘London.’
‘Not a chance. They’ll have the snowploughs out on the main roads, but they won’t get here much before tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Is there no other way? We’ve come from Netherby.’
‘Just had a message that the crossroads at Wisbury are blocked. You’d best put up here for the night.’
Sybil said suddenly, ‘I won’t. I must be taken to London. Of course there’s another road we can use …’ Both men looked at her, and she added furiously, ‘Well, do something, can’t you?’
A tall figure in a hooded cape had joined them.
‘Officer Greenslade? Can I be of help to you?’
‘Reverend—I’ve suggested that these folk put up in the village, for they can’t go anywhere else tonight.’
‘Then let me offer them a meal and a bed.’
The Reverend Selby poked his head through the window in his turn. ‘You car will be safe enough here. My wife will be delighted to help you.’
Professor Forsyth got out and made his way round to Sybil’s door. ‘That’s most kind of you—we shan’t be too much trouble?’
‘No, no—and Greenslade, if anyone else needs shelter send them along to the vicarage.’
Sybil, for once mute, was helped up the short drive to the vicarage door and into the hall, where she stood watching the men shed their coats and cloak. She looked forlorn and very pretty, but the only feeling the professor had for her was one of exasperation. Nevertheless he unbuttoned her coat and took it off her, and then held her arm as they followed their host through the hall and into the kitchen.
This was a large room, with an old-fashioned dresser, a vast table with an assortment of wooden chairs around it and an elderly Aga giving out welcome warmth.
Mr Selby led the way to the two shabby Windsor chairs by the Aga, gently moved a cat and kittens from one of them, and said, ‘My dear, we have guests. The road is closed and they can go no further.’
Mrs Selby gave them a warm smile and said, ‘You poor things. Sit down and I’ll make tea—you must need a hot drink.’
Professor Forsyth held out a hand. ‘You’re most kind and we’re grateful. My name’s Forsyth—James Forsyth. This lady is my fiancée, Miss Sybil West.’
Mrs Selby shook hands and turned to Sybil. ‘This is horrid for you.’
Sybil lifted a lovely wistful face. ‘Yes, I’m so cold and hungry, and we should be in London. If I could go to bed, perhaps I could have a small meal on a tray …’
James said evenly, ‘You’ll warm quickly here, and you have no need to go to bed.’ He stopped speaking as the door opened and two girls came in, both fair-haired and pretty and smiling.
‘We heard the car. Are you cut off from the outside world?’ One girl offered a hand. ‘I’m Flora and this is Rose. There are three more of us, but Lucy’s spending the weekend with friends and Katie’s finishing her homework. And Philly …’
A door at the back of the kitchen opened, letting in a great deal of cold air, and Philomena, wrapped in a variety of coats and scarves, with her head tied in some kind of a hood, came in.
‘I got the chickens in, but we’ll have a job to get to them by morning.’
She cast off some of the garments and looked across the kitchen at the tall man standing beside her father. ‘Oh, hello, you were in that car …’ She smiled at him and then saw Sybil, crouching by the Aga. ‘And you, too,’ she added cheerfully. ‘Are you going to spend the night?’
She had taken off the last coat and pulled the hood off her head. ‘I’ll go and make up some beds, shall I, Mother? Rose will give me a hand.’
‘Yes, dear.’ Her mother was pouring tea into mugs and inviting the professor to sit down. ‘Let me see. Miss …’ She turned to Sybil with a smile. ‘West, isn’t it? You had better have Katie’s room; she can go in with you. Rose and Flora can share, and Mr Forsyth …’ Her eye fell on the bag he was carrying. ‘Are you a doctor?’ When he nodded, amused, she said, ‘Doctor Forsyth can have the guest room.’
As Philly and Rose left the room she added, ‘They’ll put clean sheets on the beds, and if you’re tired, which I expect you are, you can go to bed when we’ve had supper.’
‘We are putting you to a great deal of trouble. Is there anything I can do?’
‘No, no. It’s stewed beef and dumplings, and there is plenty of it. Also there’s an egg custard in the Aga.’
‘Then if you’ve no need of Doctor Forsyth’s services, my dear,’ observed her husband, ‘I’ll take him along to my study while you and the girls get supper.’
There was the table to lay, more potatoes to peel, plates and cutlery to get from cupboards and drawers. Mrs Selby and Flora talked as they worked but Sybil stayed silent, fuming. A spoilt only child in a wealthy household, she had never done anything for herself. There had always been someone to wash and iron, cook meals, tidy her bedroom, to fetch and carry. Now she was dumped in this ghastly kitchen and James had left her with no more than a nod.
He would pay for it, she told herself silently. And if he and these people expected her to sit down and eat supper with them, they were mistaken. Once her room was ready she would say that she felt ill—a chill or a severe headache—and they would see her into bed and bring her something on a tray once she had had a hot bath.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a bang on the front door and voices. Philly ran to open it and returned a moment later with an elderly couple shedding snow and looking uncertain.
‘Officer Greenslade sent them here,’ announced Philly. ‘They are on their way to Basingstoke.’
She began to unwind them from their snow-covered coats. ‘Mother will be here in a moment. Our name’s Selby—Father’s the vicar.’
‘Mr and Mrs Downe. We are most grateful …’
‘Here’s Mother.’ Philly ushered them to the Aga and introduced them, and Flora pulled up chairs.
‘A cup of tea to warm you?’ said Mrs Selby. ‘There’ll be supper presently, and you’ll sleep here, of course. It’s no trouble. Here’s my husband …’
The vicar and the professor came in together, and over mugs of tea the Downes reiterated their gratitude and, once warm, became cheerful.
Philly and her mother, busy at the Aga, rearranged the bedrooms.
‘Rose and Flora can manage in Lucy’s room; Mr and Mrs Downe can have their room.’ So Rose went upstairs again, and then led Mrs Downe away to tidy herself and find a nightie.
It was time she dealt with her own comfort, decided Sybil, since James was doing nothing about it.
‘I feel quite ill,’ she told Mrs Selby. ‘If I’m not being too much of a nuisance I do want to go to bed. If I could have a hot bath and just a little supper?’
Mrs Selby looked uncertain, and it was Philly who answered with a friendly firmness.
‘No bath. There’ll be just enough hot water for us all to wash—and if you go to bed now, I’m afraid we wouldn’t be able to do anything about your supper for a bit.’ She smiled, waving a spoon. ‘All these people to feed.’
‘But I’m ill …’ Sybil’s voice was lost in a commotion at the door again.
It was PC Greenslade again, this time with a solitary