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and we wanted to wander down from The Towers—but what then? Rather awkwardly, I said tentatively:
    â€œAre you staying round here?”
    She said she was staying in Market Chadwell. That was a market town not very far away. It had, I knew, a large hotel, three-starred. She’d be staying there, I guessed. She said, with something of the same awkwardness, to me:
    â€œDo you live here?”
    â€œNo,” I said, “I don’t live here. I’m only here for the day.”
    Then a rather awkward silence fell. She gave a faint shiver. A cold little wind had come up.
    â€œWe’d better walk,” I said, “and keep ourselves warm. Are you—have you got a car or are you going by bus or train?”
    She said she’d left the car in the village.
    â€œBut I’ll be quite all right,” she said.
    She seemed a little nervous. I thought perhaps she wanted to get rid of me but didn’t quite know how to manage it. I said:
    â€œWe’ll walk down, shall we, just as far as the village?”
    She gave me a quick grateful look then. We walked slowly down the winding road on which so many car accidents had happened. As we came round a corner, a figure stepped suddenly from beneath the shelter of the fir tree. It appeared so suddenly that Ellie gave a start and said, “Oh!” It was the old woman I had seen the other day in her cottage garden. Mrs Lee. She looked a great deal wilder today with a tangle of black hair blowing in the wind and a scarlet cloak round her shoulders; the commanding stance she took up made her look taller.
    â€œAnd what would you be doing, my dears?” she said. “What brings you to Gipsy’s Acre?”
    â€œOh,” Ellie said, “we aren’t trespassing, are we?”
    â€œThat’s as may be. Gipsies’ land this used to be. Gipsies’ landand they drove us off it. You’ll do no good here, and no good will come to you prowling about Gipsy’s Acre.”
    There was no fight in Ellie, she wasn’t that kind. She said gently and politely:
    â€œI’m very sorry if we shouldn’t have come here. I thought this place was being sold today.”
    â€œAnd bad luck it will be to anyone who buys it!” said the old woman. “You listen, my pretty, for you’re pretty enough, bad luck will come to whoever buys it. There’s a curse on this land, a curse put on it long ago, many years ago. You keep clear of it. Don’t have nought to do with Gipsy’s Acre. Death it will bring you and danger. Go away home across the sea and don’t come back to Gipsy’s Acre. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
    â€œWe’re doing no harm.”
    â€œCome now, Mrs Lee,” I said, “don’t frighten this young lady.”
    I turned in an explanatory way to Ellie.
    â€œMrs Lee lives in the village. She’s got a cottage there. She tells fortunes and prophesies the future. All that, don’t you, Mrs Lee?” I spoke to her in a jocular way.
    â€œI’ve got the gift,” she said simply, drawing her gipsy-like figure up straighter still. “I’ve got the gift. It’s born in me. We all have it. I’ll tell your fortune, young lady. Cross my palm with silver and I’ll tell your fortune for you.”
    â€œI don’t think I want my fortune told.”
    â€œIt’d be a wise thing to do. Know something about the future. Know what to avoid, know what’s coming to you if you don’t take care. Come now, there’s plenty of money in your pocket. Plenty of money. I know things it would be wise for you to know.”
    I believe the urge to have one’s fortune told is almost invariable in women. I’ve noticed it before with girls I knew. I nearly always had to pay for them to go into the fortune-tellers’ booths if I took them to a fair. Ellie opened her bag and laid two half crowns in the old woman’s hand.
    â€œAh, my