Eva Ibbotson

Two stage-hands came and dragged away Fernando who was laughing like a maniac, but it was too late for he had tipped out another bucket full of water and the mist rolled on unimpeded. The act was drawing to a close; soon now the clocks would chime for daybreak and the Wilis melt away into the forest…

“Now!” Leo whispered. “The Captain says they’ll do it now, while she’s on her own. That is her over there by that rock?”

“Oh, yes, that’s definitely her.” Edward spoke with authority, for the pose was one he knew well—the dark head bent, one foot resting against the opposite leg.

“Hell!” Sergeant Barra swore under his breath. One minute the girl had been there, standing by the jutting plywood rock. The next minute she had vanished.

“We’ve lost her,” said Leo. “She must be with that bunch just coming this way. Look out for her as they come through those trees.”

Edward searched frantically among the milling girls just dancing off. Perspiring, confused, rubbing their eyes, they halted in the wings. One was bending over an injured comrade, another was groping for her lost wreath… That wasn’t Harriet… nor that one…

Then someone opened a door, there came a gust of air dispersing the clouds of mist … and with an upsurge of relief, Edward found himself looking straight at Harriet.

“There!” he hissed, “Over there, quickly! Standing with her foot on the chair.” Harriet’s familiar face, narrow and grave, her contemplative pose as she tied her shoe, nearly unnerved him. “Don’t hurt her,” he begged—and turned away as Judas himself had done while Sergeant Barra, his cloak at the ready, moved purposefully forward.

And after all it was over very quickly. She struggled, but her cries were lost in the noise and confusion and no one saw her bundled out by the two ruthless men. Hurrying after them, Edward caught only a glimpse of a pinioned white figure being pushed into the cab—and then the driver whipped up his horses and the deed was done.

“Where are you taking me?” asked Harriet. She sat leaning back against the seat of the car, still in her white tutu, the wreath of myrtle leaves tumbled in her lap. The terror and agitation one might have expected from a girl snatched off the stage by an attacker who had put a hand over her mouth and pulled her backward into the shadows, was absent. Though her expression in the darkness was not clearly visible, she appeared rather to emanate a kind of dreamy peace.

“To Follina, of course,” said Rom, frowning at yet another patch of water through which it was necessary to nurse the great black car. “I must say that you seem to have behaved rather strangely. Why no struggles? Why no screams?”

“I knew it was you. As soon as you put your hand over my mouth, I knew.”

“In the dark, from the back, you knew?”

“Yes,” said Harriet.

He had negotiated the swamp. The road to Follina, impassable in the wet season, was not the best of roads even now, but he had wanted to get Harriet away as quickly as possible. Heaven knew what Edward would do once he discovered his mistake.

“I don’t mind being kidnapped,” said Harriet. “Don’t think that. Only I wondered why? I mean, I would have come anyway.”

“I was… constrained by circumstances. Edward had arranged a rather less agreeable form of kidnapping. You were supposed to nave been snatched by a most unattractive policeman and bundled onto the boat. In fact you should even now be a captive on the Gregory, preparing to steam out into the river.”

“Oh!” The news should have terrified her, but it was difficult to be frightened of anything when she was sitting close to Rom. “I thought we had convinced him that I was leading a blameless life?”

“We had, till you burst out of that damnable cake. He was at the banquet and you can imagine the kind of conclusions he would come to.”

“I didn’t see him.” She looked sideways at Rom’s shadowy profile. “I’m sorry about the cake. I did have a reason, only I—”

“I know the reason; Marie-Claude told me. It’s because of her that I was able to get you away. She met Edward in the park and guessed what he was up to. I meant to go to the police first and call them oft, but then I decided it would be cruel to keep Edward here any longer: the climate really doesn’t suit him!”

“Yes, but when he finds out that the police haven’t got hold of anyone—”

“Ah, but they have! I don’t exactly know who, but I can guess. Edward finds it a little difficult, you see, to tell one dancer from another—and of course the mist didn’t help. It was inevitable that once I had grabbed you from behind the rock he would think some other girl was you. But don’t worry—it’s only a week to Belem—whoever she is, she can be brought back and compensated before the Atlantic crossing starts. I have an office there and I shall see to that. Don’t worry, Harriet.”

“I’m worrying a bit about that,” admitted Harriet. “And about poor Monsieur Dubrov being two Wilis short. But mostly I was worrying about your hand. If someone hurt it on purpose, I could kill him perhaps?”