Midsummer's Eve by Philippa Carr Page A

She couldn’t have survived in that fire. She walked right into it.”
    “She killed herself.”
    “No,” I said, “They killed her.” And to myself I murmured: And Rolf was one of those who killed her. How could he? And yet I had seen him. Rolf. My Rolf. I would never have believed it possible if I had not witnessed it with my own eyes.
    I was glad of something to do. It stopped my thinking of that terrible scene. But I knew I should go on thinking of it … always.
    The task before me was not easy. I had to tread very carefully for fear of arousing attention. I did not know who was in the house. How many of them, I wondered, were still in the woods? But they would soon be coming back. They had done their wicked deed. Surely they would want to get as far away from it as possible.
    I went into the linen room and took some blankets and a pillow. I went to the Dogs’ Home where Jacco was impatiently waiting for me. He seized them and made a bed of some straw. Digory stood there—his thoughts, I knew, far away at that terrible scene—and when we told him to lie down, he obeyed us as though in a trance.
    Jacco knelt beside him. He was gentle. This was a new side to my brother and I loved him the more for it.
    “You’ll be all right now,” he said. “They won’t come here. We’ll keep you here till our father comes home. He’ll know what to do.”
    Jacco stood up and looked at me. “First thing in the morning we’ll bring him some food. Have to be careful with old Penlock.”
    I nodded.
    “Here’s the key,” went on Jacco, turning to Digory and putting it into his hand. “Lock yourself in when we’ve gone. Don’t open the door to anyone except us. Understand?”
    Digory moved his head slightly.
    I wanted to weep seeing him thus, denuded of that reckless bravado which had been such a part of him. I was discovering something about Digory, about Jacco, and so much more about the baser instincts of people whom I had always before thought commonplace. But what I had learned tonight of that other one whom I had idolized—that was what hurt and bewildered me most.
    We went into the house cautiously. I crept up to my room, undressed and got into bed.
    I lay looking through the window at that slim slice of moon and I could not shut out of my mind the sound of voices, the weird light of torches, and all that had happened on that terrible night.
    I had roughly been jerked out of my childhood and I should never be the same again.
    I did fall into an uneasy doze just as it was getting light, but my sleep was haunted by nightmares. I woke up sweating with horror. Will it always be like this? I wondered. I can never forget. I should be haunted forever by the memory of Mother Ginny walking into the flames. But most of all by a figure in a greyish robe leading the mob.
    As soon as I awoke I remembered the boy. The terrible adventure was not over. I tried to imagine what his feelings would be on this morning. His whole life had changed. He had lost his home and his grandmother, who was the only family he had. What else had he? Only us. How I wished my father were home. I kept telling myself that if he had been, this would never have happened. He would have stopped it before it went so far. He alone could have put an end to those proceedings.
    As soon as I went downstairs I found Jacco waiting impatiently.
    “We’ve got to get some food for him,” he said.
    “I don’t suppose he feels much like eating. I don’t.”
    “He’ll have to eat. See what you can get. You go to the kitchens more than I do, so it will be best for you to get it. You’ll have to be careful.”
    “I know,” I said. “Leave it to me.”
    There was a subdued atmosphere throughout the house. How many servants had been in the woods last night? I wondered. Some of them might well have remained on the moor or perhaps they did not get farther than the quay.
    We had to make a pretence of eating breakfast although it was an effort to do so for both of