Everything came back into her mind with astonishing clarity – even the dress she’d worn – a summer print of cornflowers!
She had seen the house on the return journey.
Going down there she had been absorbed in a magazine she had bought, but coming back she had had nothing to read, and she had looked out of the window until, exhausted by the activities of the day, and the pressure of her shoes, she had dropped off to sleep.
When she had woken up the train had been running beside a canal. It was partially wooded country, an occasional bridge, sometimes a twisting lane or minor road – a distant farm – no villages.
The train began to slow down, for no reason it would seem, except that a signal must be against it. It drew jerkily a halt by a bridge, a little hump-backed bridge which spanned the canal, a disused canal presumably. On the other side of the canal, close to the water, was the house – a house that Tuppence thought at once was one of the most attractive houses she had ever seen – a quiet, peaceful house, irradiated by the golden light of the late afternoon sun.
There was no human being to be seen – no dogs, or livestock.
Yet the green shutters were not fastened. The house must be lived in, but now, at this moment, it was empty.
‘I must f’md out about that house,’ Tuppence had thought.
‘Someday I must come back here and look at it. It’s the kind of house I’d like to live in.’
With a jerk the train lurched slowly forwards.
‘I’ll look out for the name o( the next station – so that I’ll know where it is.’ But there had been no appropriate station. It was the time when things were beginning tO happen to railways – small stations were closed, even pullet down, grass sprouted on the decayed platforms. For twenty ninutes- half an hour- the train ran on, but nothing identifiable v/as to be seen. Over fields, in the far distance, Tuppence once saff the spire of a church.
Then had come some factory complex – tall chimneys – a line of pre-fab houses, then opefcountry again.
Tuppence had thought to heOelf- That house was rather like a dream! Perhaps it was a dram – I don’t suppose I’ll e/er go and look for it – too difficult- Besides, rather a pity, perhaps Someday, maybe, I’ll come ao’ross it by accident!
And so – she had forgotten 11 about it – until a picture hanging on a wall had reawakened a veiled memory.
And now, thanks to one word 0ttered unwittingly by Albert, the quest was ended.
Or, to speak correctly, a ques was beginning.
Tuppence sorted out three mPs, a guide-book, and various other accessories.
Roughly now she knew the area she would have to search.
Jane’s school she marked with a large cross – the branch railway line, which ran into the nn line to London – the time lapse whilst she had slept.
The final area as planned covered a considerable mileage north of Medchester, south east of Market Basing which was a small town, but was quite an iml0°rtant railway junction, west probably of Shaleborough.
She’d take the car, and start erly tomorrow morning.
She got up and went into e bedroom and studied the picture over the mantelpiece.
Yes, there was no mistake. That was the house she had seen from the train three years ago. Te house she had promised to look for someday Someday had come – Someday was tomorrow.
BOOK 2 The House On The Canal CHAPTER7
The Friendly Witch
Before leaving the next mornMg, Tuppence took a last careful look at the picture hanging in her room, not so much to fix its details fn’mly in her mind, but to memorize its position in the landscape. This time she would be seeing it not from the window of a train but from the road. The angle of approach would be quite different. There might be many humpbacked bridges, many similar disused canals – perhaps other houses looking like this one (but that Tuppence refused to believe).