A Dark and Stormy Night by Jeanne M. Dams Page B

she agreed to go for a walk with me in the afternoon. I didn’t tell her why until we were on our way. Probably everyone in the house was honest. Probably. But on the off chance, I thought it was better not to broadcast my intentions.
    â€˜And what do you think it’ll prove if we do find it?’ Lynn asked, reasonably enough.
    â€˜Well – where one or both of the Harrisons had been yesterday after they left. Maybe no more than that. But at least the bottle is something tangible, and there isn’t much else about this thing that is.’
    â€˜Yes, well, it’s a lovely day for a walk.’ She shivered ostentatiously as she spoke. The sun shone brightly, but the wind, which had picked up a bit again, was freezing.
    â€˜Pampered American! I thought you’d lived here long enough to become inured.’
    â€˜In London, my dear, not in the country. My walks usually consist of the four yards from my front door to a taxi. I don’t mind walking a little on a beach in high summer, but this, I remind you, is November.’
    I sighed. ‘And tomorrow is Bonfire Night. I was so looking forward to the fireworks, but I don’t suppose they’ll have them now.’
    â€˜I don’t think they can, even if they wanted to. They were going to have a pyrotechnics expert in, and he’d have brought his own van with a battery and a computer and all, to set off the rockets electronically. No expert, no truck . . . no fireworks.’
    â€˜So that’s that. Maybe they’ll burn the guy, anyway. I suppose they have a guy?’
    Lynn laughed. ‘You bet they do! Joyce hinted that it’s a really funny one. They wouldn’t show it to me, though. It’s supposed to be a big secret.’ She sobered. ‘It really is a shame. They invited the whole village to come, you know.’
    â€˜The old lord-of-the-manor bit? And would the village have come? If they were stand-offish about the Upshawes, I can’t imagine they’d exactly warm to a couple of genuine foreigners in their midst.’
    â€˜I get the impression things have changed quite a lot since the middle of the nineteenth century when the Upshawes were the incomers. I believe the village has lots of non-English living there now. A Pakistani couple run the shop-cum-post-office, I know, because I was in there the first day we came. Not a trace of an Asian accent, either, so they’re probably second- or third-generation. But I don’t think Jim and Joyce are trying to be the village squires. It’s just friendliness. But now nobody can get here. Look, where are we going?’
    I had led Lynn through the walled kitchen garden and out the gate. We could more easily have stepped over the wall; it had collapsed in several places, and the gate hung crazily from one hinge. But to treat the wall thus cavalierly seemed, somehow, to give in to the devastation. So we had edged through the gateway.
    Now we were headed downhill, southward toward the place where Harrison and Upshawe had been found. I shrugged. ‘They ended up here. They might have gone this way. It wouldn’t have been as dark as heading north, for one thing, or as hazardous. This part is mostly open meadow, with no trees to block the starlight or lie in one’s path.’
    â€˜I can’t figure why they left at all, any of them,’ said Lynn. ‘The Horrible Harrisons must have understood they couldn’t get very far. Jim made it plain enough. And Upshawe didn’t seem to have any reason to be out here at all.’
    â€˜The Harrisons are, I think – were – I don’t know what the right tense is – anyway, I don’t think logic is a big part of their make-up. They were furious and wanted to get away; therefore they left. Maybe they thought they could ford the river down that way, or something.’ I retied my headscarf; it was much too windy for any hat. ‘Upshawe is a harder one to