“I may not see the Widgetts for some little time, father,” she said. At luncheon, on the third day, a thick-set man with a blue jaw smiled across his table at her. She thought of an old abandoned barn that she could inhabit further downriver, but shrugged off the idea in disdain. ‘What do you want with me? Why did you catch me?’ ‘You intrigue me,’ he told her frankly. I have one shilling and sevenpence halfpenny left. She despises me, I suppose. Lucy didn’t seem like a teenage girl at all to Sheila and she knew it. After a while one began to talk. From a scout stationed at the northern entrance, whom she addressed in the jargon of the place, with which long usage had formerly rendered her familiar, she ascertained that Blueskin, accompanied by a youth, whom she knew by the description must be her son, had arrived there about three hours before, and had proceeded to the Cross Shovels. Wait a second.
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