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with Sir Hector, why pick on Nanny’s cottage? You’ve said yourself that there’s no proof that it was a conditional gift, so what harm could they think they were doing him?”
    “I see your point,” Jeremy acknowledged slowly. “Unless—don’t you think it’s possible that the Heronshaws have sat very tight on the fact that they couldn’t prove their right to it when Nanny died and everybody assumed that it would revert to the estate? I think it’s very likely that Nanny kept her own counsel about leaving it to your uncle, and it may be that it’s only since the damage was done that it’s become common knowledge. That would make sense, wouldn’t it?”
    “I suppose it would,” Meg admitted with a shudder. “But it’s pretty beastly, isn’t it? All that malice—”
    “Yes,” Jeremy agreed, “it is. And I’ve got a nasty feeling that we’re not at the end of it yet. That’s the worst of it. Once this sort of thing starts it gathers momentum—”
    “Oh, don’t!” Meg besought him, almost in tears. “You know, I’m beginning to wish that Nanny hadn’t left Uncle the cottage—and that we’d never come here! It’s all too horrible!”
    “Here, don’t say that!” Jeremy said in alarm. “It’ll work out all right, you’ll see. What a fool I’ve been to be so depressing! Say you forgive me, there’s a dear! ”
    “There’s nothing to forgive,” Meg told him. “All you’ve done is answer my questions. And perhaps you’re right. Perhaps it will all work out. I hope so, anyway.”
    “That’s the spirit!” Jeremy encouraged, jumping to his feet. “And now—” holding out his hand, “let’s forget all about it and dance, shall we?”
    “Yes, let’s,” Meg agreed as she put her hand in his and let him pull her to her feet.
    Jeremy was a very good dancer and for the time being at least she forgot her problems in her present enjoyment. It was only later, when she settled down in her comfortable bed, that her apprehensions returned. It was as if a great cloud, even more threatening than the one that had drenched them earlier in the day, was hanging over Blytheburn. A cloud that, this time, wasn’t a natural phenomenon but was embodied in a human being—Sir Hector Heronshaw. Like an ogre he seemed to loom over everything, and she knew that she was frightened, all the more so because, for the time being at least, she wanted to keep her fears to herself. She had asked Jeremy, when they had said good night, not to tell Uncle Andra what he had told her and to ask his father not to speak of it either. Perhaps it might be possible to find out the truth on her own — but it was going to take all her courage to do that!
     
    Uncle Andra did the only thing possible. He called in an expert to make a thorough survey of the cottage and to give an opinion as to the cost of the necessary repairs. Naturally, this was not a thing that could be done in five minutes and Uncle Andra visibly chafed under the delay.
    Not that Meg found that surprising. Even without the expert’s report, it was clear that it was going to be a long and expensive job and that it would be months before the place could be made fit to live in. And the time element was worrying. At the end of the month the hotel would be closed for visitors, although the Malverns would continue to live there. And then what? Where could they live in the meantime? There didn’t seem to be anywhere locally, and not unnaturally, Uncle Andra wanted to be on the spot to keep an eye on the work.
    Then, at last, the report arrived and it was even more depressing than they had anticipated. Practically speaking only the walls and the roof where it wasn’t damaged were sound. Everything else would have to be gutted. Even the stone floor would have to be taken up so that some sort of barrier to the rising damp could be inserted. And the cost! It was so astronomical that Uncle Andra whistled in dismay.
    “I don’t know, Meg, I’m beginning to lose