Free God Is an Englishman by R. F. Delderfield

her. For a few moments Henrietta hovered on the threshold, uncertain of her next move, but then something stirred around her calves and she heard the panting of Twitch, her liver and white spaniel, who must have been roused from his kitchen basket by the outcry and slipped up the backstairs to seek reassurance. The pre sence of Twitch was an added embarrassment. He was very attached to her and would certainly follow wherever she went. Standing there, shushing the dog, clutching the basket-trunk under one arm and the holdall in the other hand, her thoughts began to sort themselves out. She had to have more money. She had to reach the schoolroom and get her atlas (for who could find their way to Ballynagall without an atlas), and she had to reach the shrubbery bordering the drive without being seen. Money was the first priority, and she thought she knew where she could find some. Taking brief advantage of a surge of the maids out on to the terrace, when someone shouted news of the crimson glow in the sky, she slipped downstairs and along the passage leading to her father’s den.
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    In here a lamp still burned turned very low. It must have been overlooked during the panic exit of the men from the house. Twitch, scenting the excitement that engulfed the house, pranced along in her wake and she turned up the lamp in order to rummage in the drawers of the desk, recalling that Sam kept a cash-box there for pay ing out the domestic wages. Most of the drawers were locked, but the one containing the cash-box was open and upending it she realised why.
    There was no coin of a higher value than a shilling and only two of those. The rest, perhaps about seven shillings in all, was made up of sixpences and coppers.
    She crammed the coins into her purse and leaving her bags under the window ran back along the passage to the schoolroom, still with the spaniel at her heels.
    It was dark in here but she found the atlas by running her fingers along the bindings of the tattered school books on the shelf beside the fireplace. The dog was now whimpering with excitement, and she hissed, pleading, “Be quiet, Twitch! For heaven’s sake, be quiet!” and ran across the room, into the passage and straight against the yielding bosom of Martha Worrell.
    The shock was so great that she cried out in alarm so that Martha Worrell’s brawny arms went round her as she said, “I’ve been looking for you, child. You heard about the mill? Everyone’s half off their heads, and you’re to spend the night in my lodge…!” but Henrietta broke away, scudding down the passage to the den with Mrs. Worrell in breathless pursuit, until the sight of the luggage piled high on the desk stopped her dead. She hung on the doorpost a moment, gasping for breath. The passage was no more than ten yards long but Martha Worrell weighed seventeen stone. She said, at last, “Where do you think you’re going? Who said to pack those things?” and Henrietta, her back against the window, stared back at her defiantly, as though the housekeeper was the agent of Makepeace Goldthorpe, commis sioned to deliver her into bondage. She said, through her teeth, “You can’t stop me, Martha. I won’t stay, you hear? I’m going now, be fore they come back. They won’t give me a thought with what’s going on, and when they do I’ll be gone, I’ll be safe in Ireland!” Martha Worrell passed a hand half as big as a ham slowly across her brows.
    “What is it, child? What’s to do? For mercy’s sake, what’s scared you so? Those fools in the town won’t bother wi’ you…” and then, because she had known and handled Henrietta from the moment she was born, she sensed that it was not the riot in the town that had planted that stricken look on the girl’s face but some other agency and that in some way it had to do with the ceremonial meal she had cooked for Sam Rawlinson’s guests that evening.