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She looked at it with eyes that blurred. It was just as desolate and neglected as ever except that someone had had a tarpaulin stretched and pegged over the roof. Hector, probably, she thought.

She was just on the point of leaving when she was startled by the sound of a man’s pleasant and unmistakably American voice.

“Now I wonder, young lady, if you can tell me how it comes about that this cottage has fallen into such a disgraceful state of repair—and who the present owner is?”

Meg stared at him in wide-eyed amazement, an incredible idea swirling in her mind.

“I do assure you that there’s no need for you to be alarmed,” the man went on earnestly. “I have a particular reason for being interested in the place. You see, for many years it was in the possession of my family—”

“Do you mean—is your name Sturt?” Meg gasped, and the man nodded.

“JOSEPH STURT,” he confirmed with a little bow, and regarded Meg with considerable interest. “From the fact that you came to that conclusion so speedily, am I to assume that
your
name is Heronshaw?”

“Oh no,” Meg denied hastily. “My name is Ainslie, Meg Ainslie.”

“But you live locally?” Joseph Sturt suggested.

“No, I’m here on a visit,” Meg explained a trifle uneasily. “Actually, I’m staying at Heronshaw House.”

She liked the look of this man. In spite of his years— and she thought he might be anything between sixty-five and seventy—there was something pleasantly spruce and alert about his appearance and carriage. But what attracted her most was his face. It wasn’t that he was handsome. The most that one could say was that his was a strong face of the sort that Meg had always regarded as typically American. But his expression, and particularly his eyes, spoke unmistakably of an inherent kindliness, even benevolence. Yet he was a Sturt, and she had implied that there was a friendship between her and the Heronshaws. She sincerely hoped he would not feel any sense of embarrassment, seeing what the earlier relationship between the two families had been. But to her relief, nothing of the sort was the case, for he gave no sign of anything but interest.

“Ah, that explains it, of course. No doubt you’ve been told of the way in which this cottage became the property of a member of my family many years ago?”

“Yes,” Meg admitted guardedly, “I’ve been told about that.”

“Then perhaps you can give me an answer to my questions—who is responsible for all this terrible decay? Who is the present owner? Not, I trust, anyone of my name!”

“No,” said Meg, her uneasiness increasing. “Until recently it did. To a very old lady, Nanny Sturt. But when she died, since there were no more Sturts—” she stopped short. But there
was
a Sturt. This man. She was really worried now. Was he going to claim the cottage as rightly his? Was everything going to get tangled up again ? Apparently it was, though not in the way that Meg had anticipated.

“So, of course, it’s reverted to the Heronshaw estate,” Joseph Sturt said matter-of-factly. “In accordance with the terms of the gift. And quite right that it should! It was an extremely generous gift, even in such circumstances, and after all this time, the debt is surely paid.”

“You mean you know about the deed?” Meg asked breathlessly.

“Yes, indeed—and a lot more besides,” Mr Sturt told her. “Perhaps I’d better explain just how that comes about. Have you ever heard of an earlier Annie Sturt who, with her brother, emigrated to America some time after that near drowning incident?”

“Yes. She—she’d rather got the name for—for foretelling the future—and her family encouraged her to go to America—”

Joseph Sturt laughed.

“They did more than that! They took her to Liverpool and put her on a ship and camped out on the dock to make sure she really went. She really had become an embarrassment to them. Mind,” he added cautiously, “I don’t say she was a witch, but—”

“She could see farther through a brick wall than most?” Meg suggested, remembering Uncle Andra’s telling comment.

He laughed again.

“Yes, just that! She also had an extremely comprehensive knowledge of herbs and plants which could be used medicinally. In those early days that was very useful and she and her brother began, in a small way, a business which, over the intervening years, has developed into a concern of which I was very proud to be responsible. Now age has compelled me to retire, but I felt I must come over here to see where it all started. I, as I expected you’ve realised, am descended from the brother, another Joseph. Well, well, well! I wish I’d been in time to see the old lady, but there it is. Still, no doubt I’ll be able to see the present Heronshaw—”

“Sir Hector,” Meg supplied worriedly. “You mean, you’re going to claim the cottage?”

He stared at her in blank astonishment.

“No, indeed! I’ve no right whatever to do that. The deed specifically stated that the gift was valid only so long as there was a son in the direct line or to an unmarried daughter if there was no son. I come of a branch line of the family, consequently, while it’s a matter of interest to me, I’ve no claim whatever. No, it reverts to this Sir Hector. There’s no doubt whatever about that.”

“But—but there is!” Meg told him uncomfortably. “You see—Nanny left it to my uncle—”

“To your uncle?” Joseph Sturt exclaimed. “Is he a Sturt? No?” as Meg shook her head. “Then, my dear young lady, he must be made to understand that he has no more right to the place than I have. Nanny must have been out of her senses!”

“She was very old,” Meg acknowledged. “She may not have realised—”

He shook his head.

“That may well be, but the fact remains—surely Sir Hector has contested her will?”

“No, he hasn’t. You see—” Meg stopped short. She
did
like Joseph Sturt and she thought that he was probably entirely trustworthy, but all the same, he was asking a lot of questions, and really it was for Hector or Uncle Andra to answer them, not herself. Perhaps the thing to do was for her to be the one who put the questions. “Mr Sturt, you seem to know practically everything about your family’s affairs. I suppose you don’t happen to know where they kept their copy of the deed of gift?”

“Why, certainly I know that,” Joseph Sturt told her unhesitatingly. “At least, I know where they
used
to keep it. There was an old wall clock in the cottage. Some long time ago, the case fell into disrepair, so the Sturt of that time made a new one. But he made it deeper than was necessary, which provided a useful place to store a few important documents. Including this particular one. But surely—” he looked puzzled, “surely Nanny must have known all about it?”

“She may have done—I don’t know,” Meg replied, though in fact she wondered if this was the explanation for Nanny having clambered up on that treacherous old chair to get at the clock. Had she forgotten about its secret until suddenly, remembering it, she had realised that if Uncle Andra was to have the cottage, she must destroy that betraying document? It could be. “But what I do know—what I’m quite sure of, is that you’ve simply got to meet Sir Hector and my uncle.”

“I wouldn’t have missed this for the world!” Joseph Sturt remarked enthusiastically. “Not for the world!”

He glanced round the circle of intent faces and some of his satisfaction seemed to fade.

“I only hope I won’t be responsible for causing any trouble,” he concluded doubtfully.

He and Hector—who had returned most opportunely sooner than he had been expected—had brought the old clock down from the flat where it had been ever since Uncle Tom had insisted on bringing it away from the cottage. Now it lay face down on Hector’s desk, its back removed, its small secret hiding place revealed. It was Mr Sturt who had taken out the little packet of documents that had lain there so long. There were two marriage certificates, a copy of a family tree that went back over two centuries and—the deed of gift. Mr Sturt unfolded the crackling, parchment-like paper with hands that shook a little.

“Yes, this is it,” he said, and proffered it to Hector.

“No, you read it, Mr Sturt,” Hector insisted. “Who has a better right?”

“Hear, hear!” Uncle Andra said softly.

“I’d like to,” Mr Sturt said simply, and began to read.

It was exactly as he had said. Since there were no more Sturts left in the direct line, the cottage reverted to the Heronshaw estate and Nanny had had no right to will it to Uncle Andra.

And he was the first one to reassure Mr Sturt.

“There’ll be no trouble so far as I’m concerned,” he said decisively. “To tell you the honest truth, I’m thankful to be out of it. Even before I’d been forced to realise that from now on I’ve got to take life more quietly, I was feeling that it was too big a job for me to take on. Now, that’s certainly the case. Besides, I’ve got better uses for my money—” And he glanced at Mrs Laidlaw in a way that was too significant for anyone to misunderstand, particularly as she blushed with becoming youthfulness.

“In that case,” Hector said with evident relief, “perhaps the best thing would be for us to get in touch with our respective solicitors, tell them what’s happened and get them to sort it out. Do you agree?” he asked Uncle Andra.

“Entirely,” Uncle Andra said emphatically. “There’s just one thing, though. The clock—” He and Hector exchanged glances and Hector nodded. “We’d like you to have that, Mr Sturt. And the documents other than the deed. Though perhaps we could have a photostat copy made of that—”

“Gentlemen, I really don’t know—” Mr Sturt began, and shook his head, unable to find words. “Thank you,” he concluded with the simplicity of deep emotion.

“Well, that’s one problem settled most satisfactorily,” Aunt Ellen remarked briskly to Meg when they had all seen a happy Mr Sturt off, his clock cradled as carefully in his arms as if it was a baby. “In fact, I can’t think of a better way to have cleared it up. No lawsuit, no bad feeling. The cottage returns to the Heronshaw estate without there being any need for Hector to feel guilty in any way and Andra’s relieved of what was really an embarrassment. Actually, that’s what gives me most satisfaction, Meg!” she concluded significantly.

Meg nodded her agreement, remembering what Uncle Andra had said about a better use for his money, and Mrs Laidlaw’s pretty blush. And though they didn’t discuss the matter further, they were not at all surprised when, at the conclusion of dinner that evening, Uncle Andra announced the engagement and added firmly that they intended getting married with the least possible delay. Then, after the congratulations and good wishes had been tendered, Aunt Ellen asked the inevitable question :

“And where do you plan to live?”

But it was Hector, not Uncle Andra, who answered. “Here, I’m sincerely hoping. What I’d suggest is that you stay on as my guests in the meantime while a lift is installed in the flat. It’s something I’ve been considering for some time and this seems an excellent occasion for getting on with it. How about it?”

Mrs Laidlaw and Uncle Andra exchanged looks before accepting the offer with enthusiasm. Uncle Andra, however, had something to add.

“On one condition, of course, Hector,” he said firmly. “I’ve no false pride about being your guests so long as we’re living in your part of the house, but once we get back the flat, then I would prefer to rent it from you.”

“Fair enough,” Hector replied equably. “We’ll get down to actual figures some time in the near future. But for the moment, the wedding is more important. Just what have you in mind?”

Meg, remembering the grey church in Blytheburn which, as Aunt Ellen had said, seemed to frown at one, looked anxiously from one face to another. It seemed such a dreary place in which to start a new life—

“Well—” Mrs Laidlaw said rather doubtfully, “I was wondering—if you don’t mind. Hector—I mean, it would make it all so easy—”

Bewildered at her incoherence, Aunt Ellen and Meg looked at Hector for elucidation. He smiled as if he was both amused and pleased.

“I think what Aunt Millicent is suggesting is that the wedding should be in our own little chapel here. It’s only a stone’s throw away from the house, though you can’t see it for the trees. Yes, Aunt Millicent, I think that’s an excellent idea and perfectly feasible, of course, since it comes under the auspices of the Blytheburn vicar. Just family, or is there anyone else you’d like to ask?”

“No,” Mrs Laidlaw said quietly before Uncle Andra could reply. “Just family. We’re not young enough to want fuss and frills!” Which was, of course, a tactful way of making sure that Uncle Andra wasn’t put to more strain than was absolutely necessary.

So, one bright autumn morning, Mrs Laidlaw and Uncle Andra were married in the little chapel, and though, like almost every other building in Blytheburn, it was built of the local grey stone, its austerity was mitigated by beautiful stained glass windows and the masses of flowers with which Hector had insisted on having it decorated. It was he, too, who gave the bride away while Uncle Tom, who had arrived the previous evening, acted as best man. Meg and Aunt Ellen acted as sort of unofficial bridesmaids and after the brief, simple service was over, it was only natural that Aunt Ellen and Uncle Tom should pair off as they followed the bride and groom out of the chapel, which left Hector and Meg. It was too simple an affair for him to offer her his arm, but the aisle was narrow and Meg was supremely conscious of his nearness.

The lunch that followed was again planned to tire Uncle Andra as little as possible, but none the less, though speeches were dispensed with, the health of the bride and groom was drunk in champagne from the loveliest of glasses Meg had ever seen. She found herself wondering if those same glasses would be used when, later in the year, Hector himself got married.

That thought was still in her mind when, later that day, Aunt Ellen seized an opportunity when they were alone to ask what her plans were.

“Because, of course, with Millicent looking after Andra, there’ll be no need for either you or me to stay on,” she pointed out briskly. “In fact, I shall be going back with Tom in a few days’ time and you can come with us, if you like. How do you feel about that?”