Виктория Холт - The Captive

“We’ll consult maps.”

“Little villages are not marked on maps.”

She was downcast but only for a few moments. Then her eyes sparkled.

“I have it,” she said.

“Professor Hapgood. That’s the answer.”

“Who’s Professor Hapgood?”

“My dear Rosetta, I don’t live in Oxford for nothing. Professor Hapgood is the greatest authority on the villages of England. It’s his passion … his life’s work. He can go right back to the Domesday Book and beyond. If there is a place called Witches’ Home in England, he will tell us in the winking of an eye. Ah, I can see your scepticism fast disappearing. But trust me, Rosetta, and Professor Hapgood.”

How glad I was that Felicity knew. I was reproaching myself for not having told her before.

Felicity and I went to the clinic. Lucas was improving and was now walking with great ease. He said he was no longer in pain with every step; all at the clinic were very pleased with his progress. He still had to rest a good deal and would be going home in about a week.

I told him that I had taken Felicity into my confidence and we had plans for trying to locate Aunt Ada. He was amused at the prospect; he said the information we had to go on was very flimsy; however, he was impressed at the mention of Professor Hapgood, of whose reputation he was aware.

I said that as Oxford was on the way I could go straight to Cornwall from there. I could not delay my return much longer and I should be at Perrivale perhaps a few days before Lucas returned to Trecorn Manor.

“I shouldn’t hope for too much success in this new venture,” he warned me.

“Even if you do find the place-and you might with Professor Hapgood’s help-you’ve still got the search for Aunt Ada.”

“We know,” I told him.

“But we’re going to try.”

“Good luck,” he said.

The next day Felicity and I left for Oxford where I was greeted in a most friendly fashion by James and the children. Felicity explained that she and I were taking a little trip and she would accompany me on part of the journey back to Cornwall, but only be away for a night or two.

James was always understanding about the close friendship between myself and Felicity and he never raised objections to our taking a little time to be together. So that was easily settled and our first task was to get into touch with Professor Hapgood, who was delighted to help.

He took us to his study which was lined with massive tomes; and it was clear that the prospect of a search delighted him.

He could find no Witches’ Home, which we rather expected.

“You said a child, under five mentioned the name. Well, it must be something that sounded similar. Witches’ Home. Let me see. There’s Witching Hill. Willinham … Willinunder-Lime. Wodenham. And what about Witchenholme. That might sound to a five-year-old like Witches’ Home. More than the others, I think. There’s Willenheime … well, those two would be the most likely.”

“Hoime sounds more like home than heime,” I said.

“Yes,” agreed the professor.

“Let me see. Witchenholme is on the River Witchen … it’s hardly a river… a tributary of, let me see …”

“A tributary sounds just right,” said Felicity.

“The boy said there was water at the bottom of the garden.”

“Let me look at Willenheime. No, there is no river there. It’s in the north of England.”

“That can’t be the one. Where is Witchenholme?”

“Not far from Bath.”

I looked at Felicity with delight.

“In the west,” I said.

“Much more likely.”

“We’ll try Witchenholme,” said Felicity.

“And if it isn’t the one, we shall probably be troubling you again. Professor.”

“It’s a great pleasure,” he said.

“I pride myself I can produce the smallest hamlet that existed in England since the days of the Norman Conquest, and I like to have a chance to prove it. Now, let me see.

Your nearest town would be Rippleston. “

“Is there a railway?”

“Yes, there’s a Rippleston station. Witchenholme would be no more than a mile or so out.”

“We’re extremely grateful.”

“Good luck in the search. And if it’s not the one, don’t hesitate to come back to me and we’ll try again.”

As we left him I felt amazingly optimistic.

“Now,” said Felicity, “We shall have to go through Witchenhoime as Mrs. Becket did through London, only we shall not be calling Gilbert but Ada.”

We booked a room for the night at Rippleston, which proved to be a small market town.

“We may have difficulty in locating Ada and may need two days to do it,” said Felicity.

It was good to have her with me. I remembered how she had always thrown herself wholeheartedly into any project. It was one of those characteristics which had made her such a stimulating companion.

All the way down in the train we chatted about how we would set about finding Ada, and what we should say to her when we found her. We had both made up our minds that we were going to find her, which was perhaps a little naive of us, but we were very happy to be together, and somehow seemed to slip back into the old days when most things were so exciting.

When we arrived in Rippleston, we booked into our hotel and asked about transport. There was a trap and a man at the hotel who would drive guests where they wished to go. So that was settled quickly.

We decided to waste no time and were soon rattling along the road on our way to Witchenholme.

A hundred yards or so from the village was an inn called the Witchenholme Arms. Here we decided to stop and perhaps ask a few questions in the hope that someone might know of a Miss Ada Something who lived nearby. We arranged for the driver to wait with the trap at the inn.

There was a middleaged woman at the counter serving ale and cider and we asked if she knew of anyone in the village named Ada. She looked at us as though she thought we were a little odd as well she might, and said: “Ada … Ada who?”

“That’s what we’re not sure of,” said Felicity.

“We knew her long ago and we can’t remember her surname … all we can think of is Ada.”

The woman shook her. head.

“Come in here much, does she?”

“We don’t know,” I answered.

“Ada …” She shook her head.

“It’s mostly men who come in regular.”

“I was afraid so,” said Felicity.

“Well, thanks.”

We came out of the inn and started to walk into the village.

“Well, you’d hardly expect Aunt Ada to frequent the Witchenholrne Arms, would you?” said Felicity.

The village was, as the Professor had told us, very small. And there was a river, yes and houses backing on to it.

I felt sure this was the place.

A man on a bicycle rode by. We were on the point of stopping him but I realized, as did Felicity, that he would think we were crazy if we stopped to ask if he knew someone called Ada. If only we had her surname, how much more plausible it would all have sounded.

Felicity said suddenly: “Oh look, there’s the village store. Now if anyone would know, they might in there. Everyone would go in there at some time or other surely …”

We went into the shop. One had to step down and a bell overhead tinkled as the door was opened. There was a pungent smell of paraffin oil and the shop was crowded with goods of all descriptions fruit, cakes, biscuits, bread, sweets in glass bottles, vegetables, hams and poultry, notepaper, envelopes, fly-papers and much more.

“Yes?” said a voice.

Our hearts sank. It was a girl of about fourteen and her face was only just visible above the glass bottles of sweets on the counter.

“We’ve come,” said Felicity, ‘to ask you if you know someone named Ada.”