I had driven a couple of miles along the road when I saw her. She walked slowly, with the plodding gait of someone who has a long way to go before nightfall. Where had I seen that walk recently? I slowed the motor. A few yards beyond her, I pulled in and stopped.

I turned to look at her. She was young, and pregnant. The dark cloak she wore was meant to disguise her condition but it flapped in the breeze. As she drew nearer, I recognised the soft round face of young Jenny Hannon who had come to Bolton Hall when Osbert's body was taken there. I had seen her walk by the river bank, throwing flowers into the torrent. Straight away, I knew where she must be going, and that she would never arrive in time.

As she drew near, I smiled. 'Are you going far, Jenny?'

'To Skipton.'

'So am I. Would you like a lift?'

Her whole body flooded with relief. 'That's what I want, a ride to Skipton. The coal merchant took me a mile on his cart but was turning off.'

'Come on then.'

She spoke more to herself than to me, saying, 'Thank you, Osbert.'

I got out to help her. She shuffled across to the pa.s.senger seat. When she was settled, I reached in the back for the motoring blanket. Though the morning was warm, the breeze would soon chill her. 'Here, wrap yourself in this.'

'Thank you.' She drew the plaid blanket around herself.

I had been riding with the canvas down, but now raised it and clicked the sides and roof in place. 'You must be going to the inquest.'

She took a hanky from a pocket and pressed it to her nose. 'I have to do it, though they said I shouldn't. My mother-in-law took a ride into Skipton with Mr Upton. She said I should stop at home, not be out showing meself to the world in my condition. After she had gone, I thought, no, I must go meself. What if Osbert is looking down on the inquest and says, There's my mother, but where's my wife? Or what if they try to say that Osbert did away with himself and I am not there to speak up for him?'

'Surely they won't.'

'A body doesn't know what they will say. And now that you have stopped for me, I know I am right to come. Osbert is looking down and taking care of me.'

She did not look taken care of, but nervous and edgy, as if dreading the ordeal of the inquest. I wish I could have radiated calm, but every nerve still jangled after yesterday's experience. And the image of Osbert lying on the river bank kept coming back into my mind.

As the motor roared into life, we fell silent. She stared ahead along the narrow lanes. We sped past fields and meadows, with always the fells high on the horizon.

Jenny could not make herself comfortable. She shifted in her seat and gave small gasps when a b.u.mp in the road caused a jolt.

Ahead of us, a sheep that had been grazing on the gra.s.s verge stepped into the road. It began to run ahead, as if herded by the vehicle. Stupid sheep. I slowed down and drove around it.

It must have been my morning for animals because a mile further on, we saw a running dog, a white terrier. It, too, ran ahead of the car as if pursued by devils.

'It thinks you're chasing it. Poor thing.'

The dog darted across the road. I swerved to avoid it. My pa.s.senger lurched forward and gave a small cry. I stretched out my arm to catch her. 'Sorry. Are you all right?'

She was turning round, looking back at the dog.

I felt sorry then, and thought I should have stopped for the dog. But today seemed difficult enough without animals throwing themselves in front of me. My mind raced towards the inquest. I felt churned up inside, the way one does when nothing goes right and each new calamity treads on the heels of the one before. After her initial outpouring, Jenny sat tensely silent.

Our journey was uneventful until we pa.s.sed the church and came into the busy main street in Skipton where a brewer's dray and cart delayed progress.

'Do you know which way we go from here?'

She did not.

I stopped, and asked for directions to the courthouse.

Taking a left turn and a right, I spotted Dr Simonson's Bugatti, parked neatly this time. I pulled in behind it.

'I'll come in with you.'

Although the sun now shone hotly, she pulled her cloak around her. 'Will there be steps?'

As she struggled from the motor she gave a sharp cry.

Straight away, I knew what was coming. No wonder her mother-in-law had told her to stay at home.

She folded her arms tightly around herself, as though this may stop the force of nature.

'Take my arm.'

She opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it and shook her head.

'Jenny, the baby is coming.'

She clamped her lips tight shut and did not budge from the pavement edge. Biting her lip, she started to nod.

I put my arm around her and had to make an instant choice. Get back in the car and find my way to a hospital, or take her into the building. Another small cry decided me.

'Don't worry. Take steady breaths.'

A man in clerical garb stepped smartly from the pavement into the road, to avoid us. I called to him. 'There will be a doctor in the coroner's court. Please ask him to come to the entrance.'

Perhaps the man was deaf. He hurried on.

We took a few faltering steps. She stopped, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up her face, rooting herself to the spot.

I called to a small man in a striped shirt who pushed a huge racketing wheel barrow along the cobbles, repeating my request.

He let go of his barrow, calling, 'Watch me stuff,' and disappeared inside the building.

I manoeuvred Jenny closer to the entrance.

The wheelbarrow man reappeared. 'I've telled the porter.' He glanced about, checking on the security of his barrow, and then took Jenny's other arm. In this way, we managed to step indoors.

The man was gone in a moment, waving away my thanks.

In the entrance, the porter's cubicle on the right was separated by a window and a ledge with a bell.

The porter was in the hall, barring our way. A tall well-made man, he folded his arms as if to say entry forbidden, eviction no difficulty.

'You've come to the wrong place.'

'This is an emergency.'

He looked from me to Jenny whose cloak had now swung wide.

'You can't come in here for that.'

'It's your office or the hallway.'

He leaned towards Jenny, either ready to catch her if she fell or to spin her around and lead her out. 'There's the hospital on...'

Aunt Berta's voice required. 'No time! Fetch Dr Simonson from the coroner's office. This morning's inquest is into the death of this lady's husband.'

Aunt Berta would have added, My good man.

'You should have said.' Recognising defeat, he helped us into his little room.

Gingerly, Jenny began to lower herself onto his chair.

'Oh my G.o.d.' The porter turned and ran as her waters broke.

'I'm scared. His mam'll murder me for coming here.'

'She won't murder you before you've had the baby.'

'It int funny.'

I held her hand. 'I know. But isn't it a bit wonderful that you're a country girl and your baby's about to be born in a market town?'

She let out a wail.

'Is it a boy or a girl?'

'Supposed to be a boy.'

'He'll be able to say "My life began in Skipton". What a good start for him. And it's Monday. You couldn't have picked a better day. Monday's child is fair of face, a bonny boy to be born in a bonny place.'

We missed the inquest. Jenny Hannon held a tiny red creature, a boy. He had come into the world quickly, without fuss, as if he knew there was enough trouble already.

The porter provided tea. The older Mrs Hannon squeezed into the tiny office to inspect her grandson. Mr Upton, who had driven Mrs Hannon to Skipton, wisely took his leave. Dr Simonson and I had delivered the baby. He, being versatile, had then attended the delayed inquest. I had done very little, the porter having taken charge of the kettle and provided towels. All the same, I felt exhausted.

Now that it was all over, the porter could not do enough for mother and baby. He had made a couch of two chairs and a.s.sumed a proprietary air over the infant. 'If you're short of a name, mine is Arthur.'

Jenny did not look up. 'His name is...o...b..rt.'

'Worth a try. It's not every day I allow my premises to be turned into a lying-in room.'

The doctor and I moved into the hall, carrying our drinks with us.

'What's the verdict?'

'Mother and baby are doing well.' He took a sip of tea and nursed his cup.

'You know very well what I'm asking.'

'Accidental death. Osbert Hannon was tired. He leapt the Strid as he always did, but this time missed his footing.'

'Was anything said that connected his death to that of Prince Narayan?'

'Not directly. Mr Upton said Osbert had searched into the night. Mrs Hannon said how early her son left home to join the search the following morning.'

'The bruise, the abrasion to the back of Osbert's head, you told me you would take a closer look during the post mortem, and discuss it with your colleague.'

'We could not say for sure, but the most likely cause was that the body b.u.mped across the rocks as it was swept from the Strid to the bend in the river where it was found.' He put down his cup. 'Now what are we going to do about that mother and baby?'

'Good question. Shall we see what the grandmother says? Jenny will need bed rest.'

The porter had placed a board over his window. He now sat, somewhat disconsolately, at the edge of the room. He perked up when he saw us, and came to the doorway. 'Talk about cheek. The grandmother's complaining there's nowhere proper for the la.s.s to lie down.'

'I don't want to lie down.' Jenny looked up at me. 'You take me back, Mrs Shackleton. Osbert sent you to give me a lift and he wanted me to come back with you.'

That was a novel way for me to have my arm twisted.

'Doctor?'

'I might be able to find a hospital bed.'

Mrs Hannon scowled. 'Who'll pay for that? We've no money for hospitals. I would have delivered the baby meself if this lady hadn't brought Jenny into Skipton.' She looked at me accusingly, as if the baby's birth under inauspicious circ.u.mstances was entirely my fault. Perhaps she was right.

The question of how Jenny, the baby and the grandmother would travel home, now that Upton had already returned to Bolton Abbey, and the doctor had patients to see, was resolved by Dr Simonson.

He folded blankets from his car for Jenny to sit in my pa.s.senger seat, with the baby wrapped in blankets. The older Mrs Hannon, being too stout for the d.i.c.key seat, he promised to take to the railway station for the next train to Bolton Abbey.

Every cobble sent a jolt through the motor. As we drove out of Skipton, I noticed the hotel, and then saw a sign to the hospital. 'If you want to rest for a few days, don't think about the money.'

'Take us home. Little Osbert's dad is waiting to see him. His soul won't be free until he has seen his son safely home.'

There was no arguing with that. Driving as steadily as I could, I took us back along the roads we had travelled.

We were a mile on the road out of Skipton when she let out a cry.

'What's the matter?'

'It's that poor little running dog. Stop!'

'I can't see it.'

'Stop!' The baby began to wail. 'Back there by the wall. It's laid itself down to die.' She started to cry. So did the baby.

I stopped the car, climbed out and walked back. There it lay, the little terrier, once white, now caked with mud. Dead already, by the look of it. I drew closer. It opened an eye. It wriggled and gave a piteous whine as I picked it up gently and carried it back to the car.