"She couldn't abide the Island, that was what. She used to say she was like a prisoner there."
"You must have known Silva."
"Oh yes, Miss Silva. She were a strange girl."
"How old was she when you left?"
"Well, I reckon she were about thirteen years old. I couldn't be sure, but it seemed so. There was no doing naught with her. She were wild-like—used to go out in the wind and lose herself for hours so we'd think something had happened to her. Seemed like she wanted to put us all in a turmoil. We did our best, your mother and I, and when you came along we thought she'd be better. She were, in a way. She were fond of you. But your father wouldn't see her. He wouldn't have her near him. I never knew such a thing. Sometimes I'd hear her sobbing and I'd go and try and comfort her. Then she'd get up and dance around and laugh at me. She'd shout: 'Do you think I care for him, you silly old woman!' My dear life, that were a time!"
"It was very strange that she should go off as she did."
A wary look came into Mrs. Pengelly's eyes and I was reminded forcibly of her son. I realized that even if she knew something about Silva's strange disappearance she was not going to tell me and in any case I was obsessed at the moment by the thought of finding Fenwick.
"I'll have one of the horses and go to Fallerton," I said. "What was the name of his house, do you remember?"
"I can't tell 'ee that, Miss Ellen, but Fallerton be naught but a village. If you get there and ask, someone will be bound to know."
As I was about to leave the inn, Michael Hydrock rode in.
"Hello, Miss Kellaway, what a pleasant surprise!" he said.
"I'm just off to Fallerton," I told him.
"Fallerton! That's on my way. I'll come with you."
"I thought you were going into the inn."
"Just for a little refreshment, which I can well do without."
"Please don't let me interrupt your morning."
"My dear Miss Kellaway," he said with a smile, "even if it were an interruption there couldn't be a more pleasant one."
He had turned his horse and walked him up to mine.
"I know a shortcut to Fallerton," he said. "I'll be able to show you."
It would have been churlish not to accept his company, which, had it not been for those unfortunate scenes with Gwennol and Jenifry, I should have been very happy to do. Well, they would both be on the Island today, so I could give myself up to the pleasure of Michael's company.
"Where do you want to go in Fallerton?" he asked. "It's only a small village."
"So I heard. I want to find a Mr. Fenwick."
"Fenwick. . . . There was a Fenwick who worked at the castle at one time."
"That's the Fenwick I'm looking for. I want to talk to him about my father."
"I believe he was a secretary-valet to your father for many years and your father left him enough to get this place at Fallerton. At least that was what I heard."
"I find so few people ready to talk about my father and naturally I want to hear. It seems so odd not to have known one's own father when he was alive. He never seemed to take any interest in me."
"Your mother had taken you away, hadn't she?"
"Yes, but it still seems strange that he should never have tried to get in touch with me. After all I am his daughter."
"I have heard that he had rather an unforgiving nature."
"What I hear of him is not very pleasant."
"Would it therefore be better to let sleeping dogs lie?"
"I don't feel like that. I have a burning desire to know."
"Well, let's see if we can find this place in Fallerton."
It was very pleasant riding across the country which he knew so well. All his life this had been his home ground. Fallerton was just outside his estate, he told me, otherwise he could have given me more information about Fenwick.
We soon came to Fallerton. It was, as Mrs. Pengelly had said, a small village. There was merely a short street in which a few houses clustered together, and one or two outlying cottages.
We saw a man with a horse and cart which was filled with hay. He was fixing his horse's nose bag and as we passed Michael called to him: "Do you know a Mr. Fenwick hereabouts?"
The man looked up and immediately showed that respect which Michael inspired on all occasions.
"Well Sir, if you do mean John Fenwick as took Mulberry Cottage, he have gone."
"Now where would Mulberry Cottage be?" asked Michael.
"Just follow the street and turn right for a hundred yards and you'll see Mulberry. A bit of land there is to that place. He took over the market garden. The vegetables was good and the flowers fine but he just took off and went. Told some of 'em 'tweren't his line at all. He'd been working up at Kellaway Castle for years and he weren't cut out for it, he said. So he sold the place and went off."
"Do you have an idea where?" "No Sir. I ain't got no idea."
"I wonder if anyone round here would have."
"I dunno. They might know at the inn. He'd been there pretty often, so I'm told."
We thanked our informant and went to take a look at Mulberry Cottage. The grounds seemed flourishing and a rosy-faced woman came to the door. Yes, Mulberry Cottage had belonged to Mr. Fen-wick. They'd bought it from him and they been here this last six months. They'd taken the market garden which she understood he'd taken over from the previous owner. No, she had no idea where he had gone. All she knew was that he wasn't there now.
Michael thought it would be a good idea if we went to the inn where we could refresh
