The straps were examined. There was nothing wrong with them and that brought us to the only conclusion.

Jessica had been kidnapped.

Dickon said that there would almost certainly be a demand for ransom.

“I hope so,” said my mother. “I hope so… soon… anything, just anything, to get my baby back.”

Dickon himself led a party and searched and questioned everyone on the estate.

The news spread.

I don’t know how we lived through the rest of that day. My mother was distracted. I think we all were. It was so unexpected.

Dickon immediately had posters set up in the town offering a reward for any news of his daughter. He sent messengers out to all the neighbouring towns and to the ports.

By the end of the day we were all exhausted with anxiety. Night had fallen and there was still no sign of the child. There was nothing further we could do. We all knew it. We sat in the punch room—silent and desperate.

Grace Soper was upstairs in the nursery. She would not go to bed, but kept her vigil beside Amaryllis’s bed. Dickon said: “You can rest assured we shall hear something in the morning. They are giving us time to work ourselves into a frenzy. I know these people. We shall hear, you see.”

We sat through the night. My mother stared before her, huddled close to Dickon. Every now and then he would murmur something reassuring. “You see, we’ll hear something in the morning. I know the way these people work.”

“But what will they do to her… my little baby. She’ll be hungry…”

“No, no. They’ll look after her. You’ll see. In the morning…”

Should we hear in the morning? I wondered.

David put his arm round me. He knew I was fearful for Amaryllis.

All through the next day we waited. There was no news. The usual rumours began to circulate, for the whole neighbourhood knew that Jessica was missing. Someone had seen a stranger carrying a baby hurrying through the main streets of the town. Dickon and David hastened off to make enquiries and when the woman was tracked down she proved to have been visiting her relations in the town—so naturally she was a stranger to some people.

I shall never forget the look of hopelessness in my mother’s eyes when they returned.

I suppose the most difficult thing to endure in such circumstances is the frustration, the utter helplessness of not knowing which way to turn.

“How can anyone be so cruel as to do this?” I cried for the twentieth time. “Do they not think of mothers…”

David soothed me.

“Dickon’s right. It’s money they want. It’ll be a ransom.”

“We’ll pay and they’ll give her back. You really think that?”

“They know my father is a rich man. It can’t be anything but that. What point could there possibly be in harming Jessica?”

I shook my head. “There are so many things I don’t understand. Why do people want to inflict torture on others… without a reason.”

“There’s always a reason. In this case it is money. You’ll see. Dickon will pay. He’d give anything for the family… and particularly your mother.”

I knew it was true. But the waiting… the anxiety… the terrible fear of the unknown… they were hard to endure.

My mother looked like a ghost. All her vitality seemed to have been drained away. I tried to persuade her to rest and I did induce her to lie down for a while. I sat by her bed but I could think of nothing to say which would comfort her; she just lay staring ahead of her and then she rose saying that she could lie idle no longer, although there was nothing we could do.

I went to the nursery and played with Amaryllis. I felt so grateful that she was safe—and yet the very sight of her brought back more acutely the terrible loss of Jessica.

Poor Grace Soper continued to blame herself. She needed comforting. She said that someone must watch over Amaryllis day and night, and she would see to it that no one got at that precious little mite.

The long, long morning ended and the long weary afternoon began.

No news. Let something happen soon, I prayed. We can’t go on like this.

Dickon and David had been out all the afternoon. They were searching everywhere they could think she might possibly be; they were seeing everyone who they thought might help. They came back and even Dickon was dispirited. His prophecy that a ransom would be demanded had not happened.

That night we made a pretence of going to our bedrooms to sleep; but none of us could rest.

David and I sat through the night talking desultorily. Now Jessica had been away two nights and we were really getting very frightened.

There was one horrible thought which had occurred to me. I would not have mentioned it to my mother but I did to David, as I wanted him to reassure me that it could not be.

I said: “David, your father must have many enemies.”

David was thoughtful.

I went on: “A man in his position surely would have. He is rich and the rich are envied—and envy is a powerful force. This could be a form of revenge.”

David’s words horrified me. “I had thought of that,” he said. “He has many contacts… not only in this country but abroad. There must be many who would wish to do him some injury.”

“I know there are these secret matters and that he and Jonathan are involved in them.”

“It is so. You remember those people who came to stay for a night. It was something in his study they were after. Some secret document. And they found it. If you live dangerously you must expect your enemies to strike you in unexpected ways.”

“So it could be possible that someone has taken Jessica out of revenge… against Dickon?”

David was silent for a few moments. I knew he wanted to comfort me; but that inherent honesty made it difficult for him to dissemble. At last he said: “It is possible. But I don’t think we should allow ourselves to think the worst. The most likely answer is ransom, and perhaps we can deal with that.”

“But why don’t the kidnappers ask for it? Why do they delay?”

“Because they want to keep us in suspense.”

“Do you think they are looking after Jessica?”

“Yes, they usually do in these circumstances. A live child is of more value to them than a dead one.”

So we talked, and at length from sheer exhaustion I dozed, only to be startled into wakefulness by a nightmare—confused and horrible, in which I was clutching Amaryllis to me while someone was trying to drag her away.

“It’s all right,” I heard David saying. “It’s all right.”

I opened my eyes.

“I think it is better to stay awake,” I said.

We watched the dawn come. Another day! Another weary vigil! What would it bring forth? I asked myself and trembled as I tried to dismiss the thoughts which crowded into my mind.

I felt a sudden urge to get out of the house, to walk through the gardens, to make yet another search.

“I can’t stay in,” I cried. “Let’s go into the garden.”

“All right,” said David.

He put a cloak round my shoulders. “It will be a bit chilly,” he said, “and the grass will be damp.”

We opened the door and stepped into the porch.

Something was lying there. I stared. I thought I was dreaming. Then floods of joy swept over me. Lying there wrapped in a blanket was Jessica.

I picked her up. David was staring at her. She opened sleepy eyes, looked at me, gave a big yawn and closed them again.

“It is!” I cried. “It is!”

I went into the hall shouting: “She’s here. Jessica is here.”

My mother came first. She ran to me and snatched the sleeping Jessica from me. There was Dickon… Grace Soper… all the servants.

“She’s back! She’s back!” cried my mother; and I thought she would collapse from very joy.

Dickon took Jessica. “She’s in fine shape,” he said.

My mother snatched her. “She’s well,” she murmured. “She’s not harmed… Oh, my little baby.”

Jessica opened her eyes; she gave a crooked smile and when she saw her mother started to wail.

After the joy of having Jessica back we fell into a state of great uneasiness, asking ourselves: Who could have done this? And for what purpose?

It was clear that during her absence the child had been well cared for and she seemed to accept her return to her family without any great show of delight—although she did smile with a rather special contentment when her mother held her fast in her arms.

Who had submitted us to this suffering, seemingly without purpose? We could not forget it and the memory hung over us like a pall clouding our days. The babies were never left alone for a moment. First thing in the morning my mother and I would hurry to the nursery to assure ourselves that they were safe. Grace had her bed moved into the night nursery and she said she slept with one eye and one ear open.

Her niece, a pleasant girl of about fourteen, came as nursery maid and her room led out of the night nursery, so she was on the alert too.

But we should never feel entirely safe again.

In September Jonathan and Millicent came to Eversleigh; they were only staying for a few days and then going on to Pettigrew Hall for a short visit before returning to London.

I was suffering from a return of that apprehension which I always felt when Jonathan was under the same roof. I tried to discover surreptitiously what difference marriage had made to him. I could see none; Millicent had changed, though; she seemed softer, more pleased with life; I supposed that meant she was finding her marriage satisfactory.

She would certainly find Jonathan a charming husband, I thought, until she discovered his true nature.