I thought I should miss Barrow Wood when I went to school. I must not stay too long though. Aunt Sophie would probably be almost home by now.
I turned sharply and as I did so I tripped over a stone which was protruding a few inches from the ground. I tried to save myself from falling but I could not do so in time and crashed to the ground. My right foot was twisted under me and a pain was shooting through me. I scrambled to my feet, but I could not stand and sank back to the ground. I was dismayed. I should have been more careful. I knew there were odd stones jutting up in Barrow Wood. But what was the use of reproaching myself now? The important thing was how was I going to get home?
I touched my ankle and winced. It was swelling rapidly and was very painful.
I sat there, wondering what I was going to do.
And then it happened. He was there. He was coming towards me. He was staring at me and the look in his eyes terrified me.
“Poor little flower,” he murmured.
“You are hurt, little one.”
“I fell down, Mr. Dorian. I’ve hurt my ankle. Perhaps you would go and tell my aunt.”
He just stood there, staring at me. Then he said: “I have been led to this. It was meant…”
He was standing very close to me and I knew fear as I never had before. Some instinct told me that he was going to harm me in some way which I did not altogether understand.
“Go away! Go away!” I screamed.
“Get my aunt. Don’t come near me!”
He was laughing softly.
“Poor little broken flower. She can’t run away this time. Oh, it was meant. It was meant.”
I screamed louder.
“Don’t touch me! I don’t want you near me. Just go away and tell my aunt. Please … please … go away.”
But he did not go away. His lips went on moving. He was talking to God, I knew, though I could not hear what he said. I was numb with terror.
“Help me, help me,” I sobbed, and I let out a piercing scream.
But he was coming nearer. He was on the ground beside me and there was a terrible look on his face. He seized me.
“No … no … no!” I screamed.
“Go away. Help me!
Help me! “
Then I was alert. I heard the sound of horse’s hoofs on the road. I shouted with all my might.
“Help me! Help me! I’m in the woods. Please … please … help!”
I had a terrible fear that whoever was riding by would not hear me or perhaps would take no heed. There was no sound from the road now and I was here alone in Barrow Wood with this evil man.
Then I heard the footsteps.
“My God!”
It was Crispin St. Aubyn.
He came towards me.
He shouted: “You swine!” and he picked up Mr. Dorian as though he were a puppet figure and he brought up his fist and gave him a blow in the face. I heard the crack of bone as he threw Mr. Dorian from him on to the ground.
Mr. Dorian sprawled there. He was quite still.
Crispin’s eyes were blazing with anger. He ignored Mr. Dorian and turned to me.
“Hurt yourself, have you?”
I was sobbing and could only nod.
“Stop crying,” he said.
“It’s all right now.”
He stooped down and picked me up.
“He …” I began, looking towards Mr. Dorian who had not moved.
“He got what he deserved.”
“You … you’ve killed him.”
“No great loss. Hurt your foot, have you?”
“My ankle.”
He did not speak. I looked over my shoulder at Mr. Dorian, who was still lying on the ground. I shuddered to see the blood on his face. But Crispin was carrying me off. He put me on his horse and mounted behind me.
He took me to The Rowans. Aunt Sophie had just arrived back with the shopping.
“She’s hurt her ankle,” Crispin explained.
Aunt Sophie exclaimed in horror, and Crispin carried me upstairs and put me on my bed.
“We’d better get the doctor,” said Aunt Sophie.
They left me and I heard Crispin talking to her downstairs. He had said when they were on the stairs: “I have to tell you …” and then there was no more.
Aunt Sophie came back to me very soon, looking pale and disturbed, and I knew that Crispin had told her how he had found me.
She sat on my bed and said: “How are you feeling now? Does the ankle hurt?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll keep it up. I expect it’s a sprain. I hope you haven’t broken anything. Who would have believed … ?”
“Oh, Aunt Sophie,” I said.
“It was terrible.”
“I’d kill him if I had him here,” she said.
“He’s not worthy to live.”
I grew up in that moment. I understood what might have happened to me but for Crispin St. Aubyn. It was strange that he was the one to whom I had to be thankful. I could not stop thinking of the way he had picked up Mr. Dorian and shaken him. I would never forget the way Mr. Dorian had looked; his expression had been one of stricken horror and despair. I thought I had never seen such anguish on any face before.
Crispin had been furiously angry; the manner in which he had flung Mr. Dorian from him made it seem as though he were throwing away some obnoxious rubbish. He had not cared if he had killed him. I wondered in horror if he had.
It would be murder, I thought. Then Rachel would not have to be frightened any more.
The doctor had come.
“Well, young lady,” he said.
“What have you been doing to yourself?”
He prodded my ankle and I was asked to see if I could stand. His verdict was that I had had a bad twist of the ankle . a nasty sprain.
“It will be a little time before you’ll be able to put it to the ground with comfort. How did you do it?”
“I was in Barrow Wood.”
He shook his head at me.
“You’ll have to watch where you’re going next time.”
He talked to Aunt Sophie about hot and cold compresses and, as soon as he was gone, she got to work on me.
She watched me anxiously. I knew she was thinking that what had happened to me was more than a sprained ankle and that, by great good fortune, I had been saved from greater harm.
Aunt Sophie was the sort of person one could talk to about anything, and she decided that it was better to talk than make a secret of my misadventure.
So I told her all about it: my fall, the sudden appearance of Mr. Dorian. I mentioned that I had been uneasy about him for a long time, and how he had talked of my saying my prayers in my nightdress.
“You should have told me,” she said.
“I didn’t know that it was important,” I replied. Then I told her about Rachel.
“He’s mad, that one,” she said.
“He’s repressed. He sees sin everywhere he goes. It’s what they call religious mania. I’m sorry for his poor wife.”
“I think Crispin St. Aubyn has killed him. I think he’s murdered him.”
“I don’t think that. Just a beating. I reckon it was what he needed.
It might have taught him a lesson. ” Then suddenly she hugged me.
“I’m glad you’re safe and well and unharmed. I’d never have forgiven myself if anything happened to you.”
“It wouldn’t have been your fault.”
“I’d have blamed myself for failing to look after you. I ought to have known the sort he was.”
“How could you?”
“I don’t know, but I should.”
She had my bed moved into her room.
“Just till you’ve settled down a bit,” she said.
“You could wake in the night … and then I’d like to be near you.”
And I did wake in the night, sweating from a nightmare. I was lying in Barrow Wood and he was coming towards me. He was there on the ground beside me. I was calling for Crispin. I felt arms about me . and they were Aunt Sophie’s.