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.She might, I thought, with a flash of indignation as I remembered the large smoked haddock I had bought for supper, at least have left me some sort of message.I went to the kitchen and absently began to eat the sandwiches I had cut for Harriet.After I had finished them I felt better able to cope, as Agnes used to say.I turned the pages of the Saroyan book, my only link with Harriet.To my surprise, I found at the bottom of one of the pages a scribbled note in Harriet’s writing.My first reaction was one of irritation.I cannot bear anyone writing in a book, even a bookstall paperback.‘Cassie,’ it read, ‘keep quiet about this.Very important.Oxford – Sunday afternoon.Upstairs in small drawer.’ That was all.I was so excited at having found this that for some minutes I imagined that the whole thing was over: I shouldn’t have to ring up the police after all.Then I realized that there was still something for me to do and I went into the hall.As I was about to go up to Harriet’s room, Agatha returned from her day out.She had been to see her sister in Oxford.‘Did you have a nice day?’ I asked her dutifully.‘Oh, yes, Miss Swan, ever so nice.And what do you think, we saw Miss Jekyll on Oxford station.I was surprised.I said to my sister, Freda, I said, there’s Miss Jekyll.She’s been staying with us and Miss Swan didn’t say anything about her going.Only just come she has.’‘What time was this?’ I asked.‘Oh, it must have been about half past three, because I had just said to Freda that I could do with a nice cup of tea and what about going to Boffin’s and she said Boffin’s isn’t there any more, so we had to go to Lyons.’‘Miss Jekyll was called away suddenly,’ I explained, ‘something to do with her job.’‘Jobs!’ Agatha sniffed.‘Freda’s youngest is going to be a bus conductress if you please!’ She went into the kitchen shaking her head.I ran upstairs and into Harriet’s room.There was only one small drawer in the dressing table.I opened it and found, under some handkerchiefs, a few letters and a long foolscap envelope.One of the letters was from me, inviting Harriet to stay, another was a bill for books from Blackwell’s.The third read as follows:Dear Miss Jekyll,Any Sunday afternoon in term-time.We shall be so pleased to see you.We have tea-parties for undergraduates and anyone else who likes to come.Do drop in.Mark is always here.Yours in haste,Edith KennicotThe address, embossed in heavy Gothic letters, was Gladstone Lodge, Banbury Road, Oxford.That must be it, I thought.I felt relieved.I could certainly cope with a North Oxford tea-party.Maybe there I would find out what I could do to help Harriet.As an afterthought, I opened the envelope.It contained several sheets of thin paper typewritten in a strange language which I imagined might be Russian.I supposed it must be important and I hoped I would not have to do anything about it.The next day was Saturday and I decided to go up to Oxford a day early and stay overnight with my friend Jessie Cantripp, who was a don at one of the women’s colleges.I spent the morning packing a few things and letting it be known that Harriet had been recalled to London and that I was going away for the weekend.Fortunately I managed to find someone to take over my canteen duties, though Agnes was rather scornful about people who did not take their responsibilities seriously in wartime.I was a little worried about what to do with the Russian papers.I felt I ought to take them with me and yet I did not feel, somehow, that they would be really safe in my handbag.My glance fell upon a photograph of Bishop Moberley, which he had once given to us and which had to be displayed in a prominent position whenever his sister came to supper.It was not large and it was easy to remove the back, insert the papers between the photograph and the backing and reassemble it.It would look like a photograph of my father, for certainly nobody could have been expected to have loved this thin, sheep-faced clergyman unless he was a relation.When I arrived at St Margaret’s Jessie seemed glad to see me and fortunately vague about my reasons for wanting to stay with her.We made general conversation about Oxford in wartime and I commented on the curious dress of the Slade students who had been evacuated there, and the fact that half the College lawn had been dug up and planted with potatoes.I was glad to go to my room, one of the small guest rooms overlooking the gardens and the Chapel, a corrugated iron building rather like a garage.I always like Oxford on a Sunday morning.The first church bells begin early and there are so many places of worship to choose from.I always find the University sermon rather heavy going and I was relieved when Jessie suggested that we should visit a North Oxford church.‘Mr Unthank doesn’t even preach about the war,’ Jessie said.‘His wife doesn’t let him.’The church was a notable example of Oxford’s Gothic revival, with variegated brickwork and an interior of yellowish-brown woodwork and bright stained glass.I felt that there was an atmosphere of devotion, accumulated over long years.The outside world with all its violent happenings seemed far away.The congregation consisted mostly of elderly people and the sermon was, as Jessie had prophesied, a pleasant change from some of the fierce political perorations I have heard from Mr Ballance’s pulpit.After lunch, I sat in the College garden in the sunshine and must have fallen into a doze, for I woke with a sudden feeling of dismay to find that it was half past three.‘I’ll be back for supper,’ I said to Jessie and hurried to catch the bus that went up the Banbury Road.Gladstone Lodge was also Victorian Gothic, with a small tower and slit windows.The front garden was overgrown with laurels and other sooty shrubs and the whole place seemed dark and uninviting.I stood with my hand on the gate when I heard a voice behind me say, ‘Hello, are you going in too?’It was a young, cheerful voice and I turned round, grateful that I was to have company.I saw a dark young man, with the air of an undergraduate, wearing a neat Sunday suit.He smiled engagingly.‘My name’s Hugh Fordyce.I’m at Balliol.’‘I am Cassandra Swan.’ We shook hands rather formally.We had now reached the front door and Hugh was tugging confidently at an old-fashioned bell-pull.Through the frosted glass door patterned with stars I caught a glimpse of a hall paved with coloured tiles.We were shown into a room full of people and I was glad to be in his company.It made me feel quite affectionate towards this young man I had only just met.I could see no sign of Harriet, but a tall, fair woman came towards us.‘You must be Miss Linksett,’ she said.‘I’m Edith Kennicot, my husband Mark has been looking forward to meeting you so much
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