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His hands dropped from her shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Meg,” he said with a weariness she had never heard from him before. “I ought not to worry you with my problems.”

“But I’ve made it my problem as well, haven’t I?” Meg pointed out. “I tried to interfere and I hadn’t any right to because, just as you said, I didn’t know enough about the circumstances.”

“And now that you do?” Hector asked curiously.

“Yes—now that I do—” Meg repeated reflectively. She sat down on the stone which Hector had vacated and pondered, gazing unseeingly at one particular stone which lay at her feet. Suddenly she looked up and met Hector’s eyes fairly.

“I don’t think you’d have asked me that if you didn’t really want to know,” she began seriously. “And what’s more, I don’t think you want to be put off with easy reassurances that don’t really mean anything.”

“Quite right,” Hector told her unhesitatingly.

“Well then—” Meg began slowly, “while I do see your point of view about the farm, I still think that
people
are more important than
things
.” She looked at him enquiringly, but Hector gave no sign either of agreement or dissent. “So—” she ploughed on doggedly, “it’s the Bradleys’ future rather than that of the farm that concerns me most. You’ve said that their only chance of making out is to go back to town. Well, that’s what Mrs Bradley thinks as well. But how about Bradley? Maybe he knows it’s true and if you stick to your guns, you’ll be compelling him to do as his wife wants him to. But he could feel so resentful towards her that their marriage would break up entirely. That’s one side of it. The other—’’she hesitated, anxious to make herself clear. “The only other possibility is that they should stay on at Woodvale. Only, of course, on different terms,” she went on hurriedly as Hector frowned.

“Such as that instead of being a tenant, Bradley became my employee on a fixed wage and under constant supervision?” he suggested, and shook his head. “I’ve thought of that, but it isn’t practical. For one thing, it would take more of my time than I can spare, and for another, Bradley would certainly resent losing his independence. All the same, it
might
work— except for Mrs Bradley.”

“Yes,” Meg agreed. “She’d be the one to be resentful if they stayed on. In fact, I think—whether she’s partly to blame or not for things being as they are—I think she’s pretty near breaking point. And I don’t think it would take much for her to leave him—and
that
would mean the break-up of the marriage just the same.”

“So we’re back to square one again,” Hector said grimly.

“No,” Meg said slowly. “Not quite. Don’t you see, we’ve cleared the air a bit? Isn’t it pretty evident that whatever happens, their marriage is at risk not because of you or the farm or the factory. But because they won’t or can’t pull together. Perhaps they’re not to blame—perhaps it was inevitable, but I think that’s the truth, Hector. Don’t you see?” She was desperately in earnest now as she tried to make her point. “If there isn’t love and loyalty and integrity then how can a marriage hold together? And what can anyone else do that would really make a difference? I don’t think there’s anything. People
can
change if they want to hard enough. But if they don’t—” she shook her head.

Hector didn’t answer immediately and Meg wondered anxiously if she had made things worse.

“You’re quite right, of course,” he said at length. "I suppose I’ve known it all along. But there it is—I can’t mind my own business. I tell myself that it’s only right, in my circumstances, that I should have a sense of responsibility towards people over whom I have at least some sort of authority—”

“And so it is!” Meg said quickly.

“Not when one takes it to the point of trying to play Providence and make up their minds for them,” Hector insisted grimly. “And that’s what I’ve been trying to do for the Bradleys. Well, as you say, what happens to them really depends on them, not me. I shall not renew the tenancy and I shall not take Bradley on as an employee. To do anything else wouldn’t help them— and it might do harm. Come, we’d better be going home before they send out a search party for us!” he concluded, and strode off to where the horses were placidly grazing. Meg followed him in silence. She didn’t feel that there was anything she could add to what she had already said that would do any good. But suddenly Hector gave a sharp little exclamation.

“There’s one thing we’ve both forgotten,” he explained. “Almost certainly they’ll go back to town, and if Mrs Bradley is shrewd enough, she’ll change her tactics a bit. Oh, don’t you see?” as Meg shook her head uncomprehendingly. “If she wants to make a go of the marriage—and it could be that she does—then instead of making Bradley’s life a misery, she’ll find another scapegoat to blame for all their troubles. And she’s got one right at hand—me! It wouldn’t take much to persuade Bradley that I hadn’t treated
either
of them fairly, and that she’s been as little to blame as he has. If you remember, Bradley said that if I turned them out, my name would be mud. Well, it wouldn’t surprise me if she doesn’t see to it that it is, particularly where Bradley is concerned.”

“But that’s beastly!” Meg protested indignantly, and then, seeing the ironic smile that twisted his lips: “Don’t you
mind
?”

“I mind like the very devil,” he told her grimly. “But it would seem that I ask for that sort of thing—and I get it! Don’t look so upset, Meg. It will be all the same in a hundred years.”

“Maybe it will,” Meg conceded. “But it isn’t
now.
And I’ve been as bad as anybody—worse, perhaps.”

“But you’ve made more than handsome amends,” he told her consolingly, and slipped his arm through hers. “So forget all about it, there’s a good girl. As I intend to do!”

None the less, as they jogged homewards—rather painfully as far as Meg was concerned, it was he who returned to the subject.

“Meg, there’s something I want to ask you—”

“Yes?” she asked rather breathlessly.

"You and I started off on the wrong foot,” he said slowly. “Perhaps it was inevitable in the circumstances and I think it’s fair to say that we both had genuine grievances—”

“Yes, I think we had,” Meg agreed as he paused.

“Well—fair enough. But what I want to know is this—apart from the prejudice which you felt to begin with, has anyone done or said anything to encourage your mistrust of me?”

“Well—Uncle Andra—” she admitted reluctantly.

“That again was inevitable in the circumstances,” Hector commented. “But anyone else?” And then, as she didn’t answer at once, “Malvern, for instance?”

“Well—yes,” Meg admitted. “You see, I annoyed him by saying that it was perfectly reasonable of you to stop people damaging your property—”

Hector gave a subdued chuckle.

“That was generous of you—seeing how I dealt with you in the matter of trespass!” he commented, and Meg dimpled responsively.

“I think perhaps that’s another thing that’s best forgotten,” she told him demurely.

“Perhaps it is,” Hector conceded. “Well—Malvern. What else?”

“I told him that he was too ready to blame you for everything he didn’t like, whereas actually—” she stopped short. Another moment and she would have told him her suspicions of the part that Fiona had played in Jeremy’s attitude, and from that point it would have been only the shortest of short steps for him to guess, as Jeremy had done, what lay behind her warm defence of the man she had at first so heartily disliked. “He was quite as much to blame as you were,” she finished rather lamely.

To her relief Hector didn’t seem to have noticed that revealing pause. He certainly didn’t comment on it.

“Yes, I think that’s true,” he said reflectively. “But there’s more to it than that. I’m of the opinion that he believes I’m his enemy for other reasons than that—?” He paused enquiringly.

“Perhaps,” Meg said worriedly. “But honestly, I’m not sure enough to say—”

“Then we’ll leave it at that,” said Hector. “And don’t worry. What you’ve told me has helped me to sort things out quite a bit in my mind. I don’t think it will be long now before I—” And now it was his turn to stop short. Nor did he speak again until they had reached the stableyard and Meg had dismounted rather stiffly.

“Poor Meg!” he said commiseratingly. “I’m afraid you’re going to pay for this outing. Up you go and have a good hot bath. That will at least help!”

Meg was only too thankful to accept the suggestion and a little later she was surrendering to the comfort of the hot water into which she shot a reckless amount of medicated bath crystals. As she relaxed, she thought over all that had happened that morning, not least that final questioning of his about Jeremy. Then, suddenly, another memory occurred to her that drove everything out of her mind.

“My goodness, I was calling him just ‘Hector' almost all the time—and he didn’t seem to mind!”

While Meg was dressing after her bath Agnes knocked to deliver a letter.

“It came by hand just after you went out, miss,” she explained, and Meg thought that she detected a note of disapproval in the old servant’s voice, though it was difficult to understand why. “Of course, I had to explain to the young man that brought it that he couldn’t have an answer then and there as you weren’t available.”

“I see. Thank you, Agnes.” Meg smiled her thanks and laid the letter down on the dressing table as a hint that she had no intention of showing any eagerness to open it. But Agnes still lingered. “Is there something else?”

“Just that I was wondering about your lunch, miss,” Agnes explained. “Of course, the ladies have had theirs some time ago, but I can easily ask Cook—?”

“Thank you, Agnes, that won’t be necessary,” Meg told her, feeling that once again she had blotted her copybook, this time because she had been absent from a meal without warning. “Sir Hector and I called at Broadmead Farm and we made a meal of Mrs Chapman’s freshly made bread. It was delicious.”

Agnes’ face cleared, partly because, as Meg knew, Hector could do no wrong in her eyes but, as her next remark made clear, for another reason as well.

“Yes, Bessie makes good bread,” she conceded complacently. “She’s my cousin, you know. Well, if that’s all, miss—” and she went out of the room.

But even now Meg didn’t immediately open her letter. That last piece of information had made her appreciate, not for the first time, how involved relationships were in Blytheburn and Netherbyre. Mrs Chapman was Agnes’ cousin. Mrs Jeavons was her sister. Mrs Heyward, Nurse Heyward’s mother, was Mrs Jeavons' cousin. And heaven only knew how many other similar links there were—no wonder that the local grapevine was so effective! Probably, Meg thought ruefully as she picked up her letter, the fact that her name and address were typewritten presented no difficulty to Agnes. The “young man” who had brought it was more than likely her nephew or still another cousin in some degree, so that not only did she know who he was but who he worked for as well!

With a resigned shrug she opened the letter and found that it was from Jeremy. It was brief but it was couched in such urgent terms that Meg was puzzled. What could Jeremy have to say to her that made him literally beg her to come and see him at the hotel? He gave no hint of that, which in itself suggested that it was something too confidential to be committed to paper and, convinced Meg that she must do as he asked. She read it through again, saw that Jeremy had said he would be at the hotel all day and decided that she would go at once. As it happened Hector was driving the two aunts to the hospital, so she would be free.

Accordingly, she left a message with Agnes to the effect that she would be out for about an hour and drove over to the hotel. The front door was open, though not surprisingly, since the hotel was closed to visitors, there was no receptionist to greet her. She went straight into Jeremy’s office, but he was not there, though judging by the papers and ledgers lying on the desk he must only have gone out very recently. She hesitated, wondering whether it would be better to wait for him here or go in search of him. But there were so many places where he might be and she might so easily miss him— She sat down to wait, but after nearly twenty minutes had passed without him putting in an appearance, she went out into the hall.

It was still deserted, though from upstairs she could hear workmen moving about. She had almost made up her mind to go up and see if Jeremy was there when a door opened at the back of the hall and a maid who had presumably been kept on to look after Jeremy’s and his father’s quarters came into the hall. She gave a little scream when she saw Meg.

“O-oh, you gave me a shock, miss!” she exclaimed, her hand flying dramatically to her heart. “I didn’t hear you come in—”

“The front door was open, so as I had an appointment to see Mr Malvern, I went to his office, but he’s not there. Can you tell me where—”

“He’s gone!” the girl interrupted with a certain macabre relish which startled Meg.

“Gone?” she repeated uncomprehendingly. “Gone where?”

“Called away sudden,” the girl explained. “It’s his father. He’s been staying with friends in Scotland while all this decorating’s been going on and he’s been taken bad. Mr Jeremy had a telephone call and he started off immediately.” She looked curiously at Meg. “Is your name Ainslie?”

“Yes, it is,” Meg managed to say.

"Then he left a letter for you. I’ll get it.” And she hurried off.

A moment or so later Meg was reading Jeremy’s hastily scribbled message.

“Meg, my dear,

Just had a phone call to say that Father is desperately ill—it’s his heart. I’m starting off immediately, but even so, there’s more than a chance that I may not make it in time.

Sorry to have brought you over on a wild goose chase, but I know you’ll understand. I’ll be getting in touch with you as soon as possible.

Yours,

Jeremy.”

“It’s awful, isn’t it, miss?” the girl said as Meg folded the letter with hands that shook a little. Having so recently experienced a similar shock over Uncle Andra, her heart bled for Jeremy.