It came home to him that Caroline was saying, ‘I’ll start the kettle for tea.’
She had lit the spirit stove when Helena said, ‘Thunder.’
‘No,’ said Laurence. ‘Couldn’t be. I was just thinking,’ he said, ‘we might be able to borrow that little boat and row over to the other side. —’
‘I thought I heard a rumble,’ Caroline said.
‘No.’
‘It’s quarter past four,’ Helena said. ‘I wonder where Georgina has got to?’
‘Spirited away,’ said Laurence remarkably.
Helena roused him to scout round for Georgina.
‘I’m sure it’s going to rain,’ she said.
The sky had clouded, and in spite of Laurence’s protests the barking of distant thunder was undeniable.
‘The thunder’s miles away over the downs,’ Laurence said, ‘it will miss the valley.’ Nevertheless, he went off in search of Mrs Hogg, pausing on the way to look more closely at the houseboat. The plump girl had gone inside.
Caroline and Helena started to move their rugs and tea-cups into the cars.
‘Even if we miss the storm,’ Helena said, ‘it will certainly set in to rain within the next ten minutes.—’
Suddenly they caught sight of the Baron on the opposite bank. He shouted something, but he was too far from them to be heard. With his hands describing a circuit he conveyed that he was coming back by the bridge.
‘He’ll get soaked,’ Caroline said. ‘Poor Willi!’ But before he set off again she waved him to stop.
‘I’ll ask for the boat,’ she said, ‘and row him over.’
‘That would be nice,’ Helena said. ‘Sure you can manage it?’
But Caroline, with Laurence’s raincoat over her shoulders, was away to the houseboat. The Baron stood perplexed for a moment. He saw Caroline bend down and knock at the little window. He understood the plan, then, and waited. In a few minutes Caroline signed to him that she had the owner’s permission to use the boat.
The rain had started, but it was light and the river calm. Caroline reached him within a few moments. He climbed into the boat and took the oars from her.
‘I got a sight of Hogarth,’ he said immediately, ‘alias Hogg, but he was in disguise. Quite a different appearance from the man I saw conducting the Black Mass. In the circumstances I did not address him, it was too frightening.—’
‘How did you know it was Mervyn Hogarth, then?’
‘I asked one of the lay-brothers. He confirmed that Mervyn Hogarth was staying there, and pointed him out. They believe he is come to the Abbey for the fishing.’
‘What fishing?’
‘Apparently the Abbey rents out a strip of fishing ground. They put up the anglers in the Abbey,’ said the Baron. ‘Little do they know whom they are harbouring. Hogarth alias Hogg,’ he said.
‘I think you are mixed up, Willi.’ Caroline pulled the raincoat over her head and patted her hair beneath it. ‘The man at the Black Mass must have been a different Hogarth.’
‘Oh no, he was named Hogg. Hogarth is the daytime name. I know for a fact that Mervyn Hogarth was born Mervyn Hogg.’
‘The man at the Black Mass must have been a different Hogg.’
‘I have the whole picture, which you have not,’ the Baron said. ‘This afternoon, as I was leaving the Abbey grounds I saw the witch, Mrs Hogg, entering them. I turned back and followed her. I saw —actually saw, Caroline — Mrs Hogg approaching Hogarth. He was doing something to a fishing rod at the time. He recognized her of course. He looked very miserable. They exchanged a few words. Soon, he walked away and left her. The couple are clearly known to each other.—’
They had landed. Caroline thanked the woman while the Baron tied up the boat.
‘There’s no sign of Georgina,’ Helena said as they reached her car. ‘Laurence has been back and he’s gone off again to search for her. What a nuisance.
‘She was over at the Abbey,’ said the Baron. ‘I left her there half an hour ago.’
‘How vexing. Well, we shall have to wait. Let’s try and continue some tea in the back of the car.’
The thunder was still distant. The storm that was raging some miles away seemed unlikely to reach them, but now the rain was heavy.
‘Which way did Laurence go?’ the Baron said.
‘Towards the bridge.’
‘I’ll take his car and meet him. I daresay I shall pick up Mrs Hogg on her way back. She must be at the bridge by now.’
He drove off. Every few minutes Helena poked her head out of the back window of her car. ‘I hope they don’t miss each other,’ she said, ‘Laurence only has his jacket. Oh, there’s Georgina!’
Mrs Hogg was coming down to the riverside by a track through the trees on the opposite bank. She saw Helena and raised her hand in recognition.
Helena made a frantic dumb-show at her. Mrs Hogg stood waiting and stupid-looking.
‘Caroline,’ said Helena, ‘be an angel.’
‘You want me to fetch her in the boat,’ Caroline stated.
‘Put the mac over your head, do.’ Helena was nervy. ‘We shall be kept waiting here for ages if she has to plod round by the bridge. It’s two miles each way. I’m dying to get home.’
When Caroline did not reply, Helena seemed aware of having asked more than an ordinary favour.
‘I’ll go, dear,’ said Helena at once. ‘Give me the mac. I’m sure I can manage the boat.’
Caroline was sure she couldn’t. She jumped out of the car and was off like someone taking a plunge against nature.
In spite of the rain, with only a cardigan over her summer dress, Helena followed. She caught up Caroline at the houseboat, and added her gracious thanks to the owner. As Caroline unmoored she said, ‘This really is charitable, Caroline. Poor Georgina would be drenched if she had to walk round to cross the bridge.’
Caroline gave her an amiable smile, for she was too proud to reveal her neurotic dread. Her dread was on account of a very small thing. She knew she would have to give Mrs Hogg a hand into the boat. The anticipation of this physical contact, her hand in Mrs Hogg’s only for a moment, horrified Caroline. It was a very small thing, but it was what she constitutionally dreaded.
‘Step down here, Mrs Hogg. On to that stone. Give me your hand. Take care, the river’s deep here.’
The bank had grown muddy but there were several firm footholds. Caroline, standing astride in the boat, reached out and grasped Mrs Hogg’s hand firmly. Step there, now there. ‘I’m doing fine,’ Caroline thought, gripping the woman’s hand tightly in her own. She was filled with the consciousness of hand.
Mrs Hogg had rubber-soled shoes which had picked up a good deal of mud. In spite of all her care she slipped on her heels, she tottered backwards with her hand still gripped in Caroline’s so that the boat rocked wildly. In an instant she was loudly in the water and Caroline, still grasping the hand by the first compulsive need to overcome her horror of it, went with her. Mrs Hogg lashed about her in a screaming panic. Caroline freed herself and gripped the side of the boat. But she was wrenched away, the woman’s hands were on her neck — ‘I can’t swim!’
Caroline struck her in the face. ‘Hold on to my shoulders,’ she shouted. ‘I can swim.’ But the woman in her extremity was intent on Caroline’s throat. Caroline saw the little boat bobbing away downstream. Then her sight became blocked by one of Mrs Hogg’s great hands clawing across her eyes, the other hand tightening on her throat. Mrs Hogg’s body, and even legs, encompassed Caroline so that her arms were restricted. She knew then that if she could not free herself from Mrs Hogg they would both go under.