Then she saw a spectral face pressed against the dark casement. A hand tapped repeatedly on a pane.
Henrietta put Mrs. Tyson from her and approached the window. She discovered that the face was a woman’s face, and with fumbling fingers she slid aside the catch that secured the window.
“Tell the missus not to be scared,” whispered an anxious voice. “Tell her it’s me! I got up the pear tree to see her, and I saw you. I knew that Bess was lying, and I thought I’d—I thought I’d just get up and see for myself!”
“Thank God!” Henrietta cried, clinging to the sill in a passion of relief as she recognised the stolid-faced servant. “You know me?”
“You’re the young lady that’s missing?” the woman answered, taking a securer hold of the window-frame, and bringing her head into the room. “I know you. I was thinking if I dared scare the missus, when I see you tumble in—I nigh tumbled down with surprise! I’ll go hot-foot and take the news, miss!”
“No, no, I shall come!”
“You let me go and fetch ’em! I’ll bet, miss, I’ll be welcome. And do you bide quiet and safe. Now we know where you are, they’ll not harm you.”
But Henrietta had heard a footstep on the stairs, and she was not going to bide quiet. She had no belief in her safety.
“No,” she said resolutely. “I am coming. Can you take the child?”
“Well, if you must, but——”