I was to return to Helena’s and Matthew’s and my parents were staying at the house in the square, so the cab would drop me first; and while my bags were being taken into the house, Helena came out.
I could tell immediately that she was extremely distraught.
I cried: “What has happened?”
She stared at me for a few seconds, then she burst out: “Morwenna has disappeared.”
The cabby was quickly paid off and instead of going straight to the house in the square, my parents stayed.
As soon as we were inside, Helena said: “She has just … disappeared. It was two days ago.”
“Disappeared?” cried my father. “But … how?”
“Grace was coming and they were going out together, and when Grace came the maid went up to Morwenna’s room to call her and the room was empty. The time went on … and Grace was waiting there. She said she would go over to my mother’s house to see if Morwenna was there. It was unlikely, but we did not know. We thought she had to be somewhere. She wasn’t there, of course. And then we began to get worried.
“Grace was a great help. She went back to her own place to see if Morwenna had gone there and they had just missed each other. She wondered whether there had been some misunderstanding about arrangements. Of course, Morwenna rarely went out on her own. We never thought it was right that she should … but on isolated occasions she might have done so. Well, the plain fact is that she has gone. We can’t find her anywhere.”
“Has she taken anything with her?”
“No … only what she was wearing … everything seems to be here. … It is just as though she has walked out.”
“Surely she would never do that,” said my mother.
“She was always nervous about going to places,” I said. “She always wanted someone with her.”
“It’s been driving us mad.”
“And she has been gone two days?”
“We haven’t known what to do.”
“The police should be told,” said my father.
“We have told them … and we have sent word to her parents. I just can’t think what has happened.”
“If there had been an accident we should have heard.”
My father was thoughtful. “You … don’t think she has been kidnapped?”
“Kidnapped?” cried Helena. “Who would kidnap her?”
“I was thinking of a ransom,” said my father. “There was some mention in the paper a few weeks back about mining in Cornwall and how successful the Pencarron Mine was. I saw something about Josiah Pencarron’s daughter, Morwenna, being in London for the season. I just wondered …”
“Good Heavens,” murmured my mother. “It seems feasible.”
“What would they do to her?” I asked in terror.
My mother turned away. “They would have to treat her well. She would be their bargaining counter.”
“It’s terrible” I cried. “Morwenna … of all people. I wish she had come with us.”
We did not know how to act. The police were making inquiries. No one had any information except the maid who thought she had seen Morwenna leaving the house late on the night before her disappearance.
We could not understand that. Why should Morwenna have left the house late at night? There was no letter or anything in her room to give an indication that she had been called away. But who could have called her at that time of night?
None of us could understand what it could mean.
The maid thought her bed might not have been slept in although it had been turned back and made to seem as though it could have been.
We sat there in terrible dismay. We all felt we should be taking some action. But what? Morwenna just walking out of the house. It didn’t make sense. There must have been a reason. There must have been a message if she went of her own accord.
And her departure might not have been discovered until about twelve hours after she left. What could have happened during those fateful twelve hours?
Uncle Peter came to the house with Aunt Amaryllis.
“This is an extraordinary affair,” he said. He felt certain that Morwenna had been kidnapped and that sooner or later a ransom would be demanded. Then we should have to go very carefully from there.
“But what is so strange,” said my mother, “is that she appears to have gone willingly.”
“She must have left some message,” said Aunt Amaryllis.
“The servants have been questioned,” Helena reminded her. “Nothing has been found.”
Uncle Peter said: “She was probably lured out of the house to where her kidnappers were waiting.”
“She would never have done such a thing,” I cried. “She would have been scared. If I had been here she would have told me. This wouldn’t have happened if I had been here.”
“It is all very mysterious,” said Uncle Peter, “and unfortunate that she should be staying at this house.”
I felt impatient with him. He was afraid, even at a time like this, that there would be some scandal which would harm Matthew’s parliamentary image; yet he would also be wondering if there might not be some good publicity in it. I could imagine his weighing this up. It was how he looked on everything.
“What we have to think about is Morwenna,” I said. “Where it happened is not important. All that matters is that it has happened.”
“We have to consider all the details carefully,” put in my father. “Where it happened … might be very important.”
“Her parents will know by now,” said Aunt Helena. “I can’t bear to think what their feelings are at this moment.”
“But what are we going to do?” I asked.
“We shall hear something in due course,” said Uncle Peter. “There will be a demand for a ransom, I expect. It has probably been sent to her parents. They are the ones they will have their eyes on.”
“It will be terrible for them,” said my mother.
I imagined Mr. and Mrs. Pencarron receiving a demand for money in exchange for the return of their daughter and threatening … what? … if they did not comply.
I felt frantic with anxiety. I could not bear to think of Morwenna in the hands of desperate men.
Later that day Mr. and Mrs. Pencarron arrived in London. They had aged considerably. It was immediately clear that they had no news of Morwenna.
“I can’t understand all this,” said Mr. Pencarron. “Our girl … what has she done? Why should they do this to her?”
“We should never have let her come to London,” mourned Mrs. Pencarron. “I always knew it was a wicked place.”
“We’ll find her,” said my father firmly.
“You will, won’t you?” pleaded Mrs. Pencarron. “What do you think they are doing to her?”
“They won’t harm her, that’s for sure,” replied my father. “They can only bargain for her if she is alive and well.”
“Alive … you don’t think …”
“Oh no … no … What I am telling you is that if she is well they can bargain for her. I expect sooner or later they will be asking for some money.”
“I’ll do anything to get my girl back,” cried Mr. Pencarron. “They can have all I’ve got.”
“We’d do anything … anything,” sobbed Mrs. Pencarron.
I went to her and put my arms round her. “She’s all right, Mrs. Pencarron. I know she’ll be all right.”
“Did she say anything to you?” she asked piteously. “Did she seem frightened that someone was going to take her away?”
“I was in Derbyshire with my parents,” I explained. “I wasn’t here. But I just feel she is all right. She must be.”
“And you weren’t here,” said Mrs. Pencarron almost accusingly.
I shook my head.