‘They do say as this used to be the priest’s room in the olden days,’ she said, ‘but I wouldn’t know about that. Well, I hope you’ll be comfortable. What time you get your breakfast will depend, but I’ll see you get some somehow, Mayering or no Mayering. Supper will be up about eight, if that’ll suit. I know this isn’t much of a room, but there it is. Think you’ll be all right, then?’
‘Oh, yes, of course,’ said Fenella.
‘Clytie’ll come for you in the morning when it’s time for breakfast, but as I can’t say when that’ll be, I’ve put some biscuits and a bottle of bitter lemon in the drawer there. Won’t be early tea, I don’t suppose, on account of the Mayering. Oh, before I forget. Look, there’s your key’ – she handed it over – ‘but I got Jem to fix a couple of staples across the door because that doesn’t have any bolts. See that piece of wood? Well, fix that across before you get into bed. It’s teak and would keep out an army, and the door’s solid oak. Nobody won’t break that down, don’t you fret. Your luggage will be here in a minute. See you in the morning, then. If you hear folks traipsing about, it won’t be nothing to do with you, so don’t you take no notice, and, whatever happens, don’t you open that door to nobody. Get very fresh, some of ’em do, when they’ve had a couple.’
Uncertain as to what Mrs Shurrock might consider ‘getting fresh’ to involve, but feeling certain that it had something (on this particular night) to do with the mysterious Mayering, Fenella waited until she was certain that her hostess was out of ear-shot and then tried out the primitive barrier. The length of teak slotted handily into place across the door and she left it there until there came a gentle tapping, to which, forgetting for the moment that her visitor could not accept the invitation, she thoughtlessly said, ‘Come in.’
When she had unbarred the door and opened it, an unknown youth stood there holding two suitcases.
‘Oh, thank you,’ she said. ‘Just put them over by the wash-stand, please.’ She tipped him and received perfunctory thanks and a broad grin. He motioned towards the piece of teak.
‘Safe bind, safe find,’ he said. ‘Not such a bad sort of notion, at that, on Mayerin’ Eve. I’m courtin’ with Clytie, as so happen, so nothing to fear from me.’
‘What’s your name?’ asked Fenella, who hoped that his remark was good-naturedly bucolic and not as impudent as it sounded.
‘Bob, miss,’ he replied.
‘Well, Bob, I wish somebody would tell me what this Mayering Eve thing is all about. I seem to hear of nothing else. What happens, and why does it happen?’
‘Why, don’t you know, miss?’ He sounded genuinely surprised.
‘If I did, I shouldn’t be asking.’
‘If you don’t know, then maybe you’re just as well off. But if you don’t know about Mayerin’ Eve, what call have you got to be stoppin’ here the night?’
‘Well, it isn’t your business to ask me that, but my car broke down. That’s why I’m obliged to stay here.’
‘Broke down?’ He laughed. ‘That’s a good ’un! A likely sort of tale that be!’ Still laughing, he went away. Fenella, for the first time, felt perturbed rather than exasperated. A likely sort of tale? Something which had been at the back of her mind, but never quite pushed out of sight, came into the foreground and stayed there. She knew very little about machinery and what an engine did and precisely why it did it. These were matters with which she had never seriously concerned herself. However, it certainly seemed strange that a car which had been running as sweetly as a limpid stream up to the time she had switched off its engine in the inn yard, should have refused to start, or even to give so much as a belch, a grunt or an imitation of a dying duck, less than an hour later.
Reason attempted to come to her aid. There could be no purpose, no point, in anybody meddling with the car. Nobody could possibly want or need to keep her in the village for the night. Not only was she a complete stranger, but it was obviously inconvenient for the innkeepers to put her up for the night. Even if this had not been the case, they had nothing to gain except a pound or two for their trouble and the laundering of her bed-linen and the food she ate. Then she remembered the ill-conditioned youth whom she had asked to direct her to the post-office. It was well within the scope of such types to damage a car, she supposed, if only for the doubtful satisfaction of making thorough nuisances of themselves. He had thought that to put the only public telephone out of order was a good joke, so what more likely than that it had amused him to tamper with her car?
She was engaged with these thoughts while she unpacked a bag and was wishing that she had the youth in her clutches with nobody standing by to see fair play, when there came another tap at the door. This time it was her supper, brought by the girl Clytie.
‘Sorry it’s not all that hot,’ said Clytie. ‘Fact is, it’s a fair old way from that kitchen up to here.’ The supper consisted of two of the small meat pies and some baked beans from a tin. To follow there was a slice of fruit cake and an orange.
‘ ’Tain’t much,’ said the girl, ‘but we be kind of put
