Roughly now she knew the area she would have to search.
Jane's school she marked with a large cross - the branch railway line, which ran in
to the nn line to London - the time lapse whilst she had slept.
The final area as planned covered a considerable mileage north of Medchester, south east of Market Basing which was a small town, but was quite an iml0°rtant railway junction, west probably of Shaleborough.
She'd take the car, and start erly tomorrow morning.
She got up and went into e bedroom and studied the picture over the mantelpiece.
Yes, there was no mistake. That was the house she had seen from the train three years ago. Te house she had promised to look for someday Someday had come - Someday was tomorrow.
BOOK 2 The House On The Canal CHAPTER7
The Friendly Witch
Before leaving the next mornMg, Tuppence took a last careful look at the picture hanging in her room, not so much to fix its details fn'mly in her mind, but to memorize its position in the landscape. This time she would be seeing it not from the window of a train but from the road. The angle of approach would be quite different. There might be many humpbacked bridges, many similar disused canals - perhaps other houses looking like this one (but that Tuppence refused to believe).
The picture was signed, but the signature of the artist was illegible - All that could be said was that it began with B.
Turning away from the picture, Tuppence checked her paraphernalia: an A.B.C. and its attached railway map; a selection of ordnance maps; tentative names of places -Medchester, Westleigh - Market Basing - Middlesham -Inchwell - Between them, they enclosed the triangle that she had decided to examine. With her she took a small overnight bag since she would have a three hours' drive before she even arrived at the area of operations, and after that, it meant, she judged a good deal of slow driving along country roads and lanes looking for likely canals.
After stopping in Medchester for coffee and a snack, she pushed on by a second-class road adjacent to a railway line, and leading through wooded country with plenty of streams.
As in most of the rural districts of England, signposts were plentiful, bearing names that Tuppence had never heard of, and seldom seeming to lead to the place in question. There seemed to be a certain cunning about this part of the road system of England. The road would twist off from the canal, and when you pressed on hopefully to where you thought the canal might have taken itself, you drew a blank. If you had gone in the direction of Great Michelden, the next signpost you came to offered you a choice of two roads, one to Pennington Sparrow and the other to Farlingford. You chose Farlingford and managed actually to get to such a place but almost immediately the next signpost sent you back fu-mly to Medchester, so that you practically retraced your steps.
Actually Tuppence never did fred Great Michelden, and for a long time she was quite unable to fred the lost canal. If she had had any idea of which village she was looking for, things might have gone more easily. Tracking canals on maps was merely puzzling. Now and again she came to the railway which cheered her up and she would then push on hopefully for Bees Hill, South Winterton and Farrell St Edmund. Farrell St Edmund had once had a station, but it had been abolished some time ago! 'If only,' thought Tuppence, 'there was some well behaved road that ran alongside a canal, or alongside a railway line, it would make it so much easier.' The day wore on and Tuppence became more and more baffled. Occasionally she came upon a farm adjacent to a canal but the road having led to the farm insisted on having nothing more to do with the canal and went over a hill and arrived at something called Westpenfold which had a church with a square tower which was no use at all.
From there when disconsolately pursuing a rutted road which seemed the only way out of Westpenfold and which to Tuppence's sense of direction (which was now becoming increasingly unreliable) seemed to lead in the opposite direction to anywhere she could possibly want to go, she came abruptly to a place where two lanes forked right and left. There was the remains of a signpost between them, the arms of which had both broken off.
'Which way?' said Tuppence. 'Who knows? I don't.' She took the left hand one.
It meandered on, winding to left and to right. Finally it shot round a bend, widened out and climbed a hill, coming out of woods into open downlike country. Having surmounted the crest it took a steep downward course. Not very far away a plaintive cry sounded 'Sounds like a train,' said Tuppence, with sudden hope. 'It was a wain - Then below her was the railway fine and on k a goods train uttering cries of distress as it puffed along. And beyond it was the canal and on the other side of the canal was a house that Tuppence recognized and, leading across the canal was a small hump-backed, pink-bricked bridge. The road dipped under the railway, came up, and made for the bridge.
Tuppence drove very gently over the narrow bridge. Beyond it the road went on with the house on the fight hand side of it.
Tuppence drove on looking for the way in. There didn't seem to be one. A fairly high wall shielded it from the road.
The house was on her right now. She stopped the car and walked back on to the bridge and looked at what she could see of the house from there.
Most of the tall windows were shuttered with green shutters.
The house had a very quiet and empty look. It looked peaceful and kindly in the setting sun. There was nothing to suggest that anyone lived in it. She went back to the car and drove a little farther. The wall, a moderately high one, ran along to her right.
The left hand side of the road was merely a hedge giving on green fields.
Presently she came to a wrought iron gate in the wall. She parked the car by the side of the road, got out and went over to look through the ironwork of the gate. By standing on tiptoe she could look over it. What she looked into was a garden. The place was certainly not a farm now, though it might have been once. Presumably it gave on fields beyond it. The garden was tended and cultivated. It was not particularly 6dy but it looked as though someone was trying rather unsuccessfully to keep it tidy.
From the iron gate a circular path curved through the garden and round to the house. This must be presumably the front door, though it didn't look like a front door. It was inconspicuous though sturdy - a back door. The house looked quite different from this side. To begin with, it was not empty.
People lived there. Windows were open, curtains fluttered at them, a garbage pail stood by the door. At the far end of the garden Tuppence could see a large man digging, a big elderly man who dug slowly and with persistence. Certainly looked at from here the house held no enchantment, no artist would have wanted particularly to paint it. It was just a house and somebody lived in it. Tuppence wondered. She hesitated.
Should she go on and forget the house altogether? No, she could hardly do that, not after all the trouble she had taken.
What time was it? She looked at her watch but her watch had stopped. The sound of a door opening came from inside. She peered through the gate again.
The door of the house had opened and a woman came out.
She put down a milk bottle and then, straightening up, glanced towards the gate. She saw Tuppence and hesitated for a moment, and then seeming to make up her mind, she came down the path towards the gate. 'Why,' said Tuppence to herself, 'why, it's a friendly witch!'
It was a woman of about fifty. She had long straggly hair which when caught by the wind, flew out behind her. It reminded Tuppence vaguely of a picture (by Nevinson?) of a young witch on a broomstick. That is perhaps why the term witch had come into her mind. But there was nothing young or beautiful about this woman. She was middle-aged, with a lined face, dressed in a rather slipshod way. She had a kind of steeple hat perched on her head and her nose and her chin came up towards each other. As a description she could have been sinister but she did not look sinister. She seemed to have a beaming and boundless good will. 'Yes,' thought Tuppence, 'you're exactly like a witch, but you're a friendly witch. I expect you're what they used to call a "white witch".'
The woman came down in a hesitating manner to the gate and spoke. Her voice was pleasant with a faint country burr in it of some kind.
; 'Were you looking for anything?' she said.
'I'm sorry,' said Tuppence, 'you must think it very rude of me looking into your garden in this way, but - but I wondered about this house.'
'Would you like to come in and look round the garden?' said the friendly witch.
'Well - well - thank you but I don't want to bother you.' 'Oh, it's no bother. I've nothing to do. Lovely afternoon, isn't it?'
'Yes, it is,' said Tuppence.
'I thought perhaps you'd lost your way,' said the friendly witch. 'People do sometimes.'
'I just thought,' said Tuppence, 'that this was a very attractive looking house when I came down the hill on the other side of the bridge.'
'That's the prettiest side,' said the woman. 'Artists come and sketch it sometimes - or they used to - once.'
'Yes,' said Tuppence, 'I expect they would. I believe I - I saw a picture - at some exhibition,' she added hurriedly. 'Some house very like this. Perhaps it was this.'