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there was another way of access to Nanny’s cottage, but it was too narrow a lane to allow for much in the way of parking. It would quickly become congested and people would have to walk quite a distance along a dull, rutty road that, in dry weather, would probably be very dusty as well. It was surely not stretching imagination too far to guess that, already mistrusting the Heronshaws, the closing of the by-road would seem to Nanny to be the outcome of downright malice directed deliberately at her. No wonder if she had become a little odd in her behaviour—in fact, brooding over what she felt were her wrongs might well have at least contributed towards her failing health.
    Yes, Meg felt with growing conviction. That must be what had happened—and Sir Hector was perfectly well aware of it. Probably, she thought, all that he had told her was the truth, but she was quite sure that it was not the whole truth. Very cleverly he had given the impression of frankness and he had even made it appear that his sympathy had been with Nanny—not in so many words, of course, but by his manner. But was that the outcome of genuine feeling or had it been a clever attempt to draw off suspicion that he had in any way contributed to Nanny’s death? How could she possibly know? she asked herself. With a man like Hector Heronshaw one was at a loss because he had a mind which was not only shrewd but was subtle as well. Generally speaking, she thought, he would be frank to the degree of being brutally outspoken, but he was equally able to disguise his true feelings if it suited him to do so.
    It was all so confusing, but of one thing Meg was at least certain. Sir Hector had said all that he meant to and she was most unlikely to get any further information out of him. It would have to come from other people— and it was very difficult to see from whom.
    Suddenly she was filled with a sense of revulsion. She wished Nanny hadn’t left Rose Cottage to Uncle Andra. She wished that they had not come to Blytheburn. But above all, she wished that she had never set eyes on Hector Heronshaw.

CHAPTER THREE
    UNCLE ANDRA made up his mind rather more quickly than Meg had anticipated and not only was he very determined about it but he had also considered and solved the problem which Meg had regarded as insurmountable.
    “I’m going to repair the cottage and, for that matter, improve it in some ways,” he announced abruptly after breakfast the day after Meg’s meeting with Hector Heronshaw. “And I shall stay on here so that I can supervise the work.”
    “But you can’t, Uncle Andra,” Meg reminded him. “The hotel is closing in a week’s time.”
    “I know that,” Uncle Andra said impatiently. “I’ve arranged with the Malverns that one of their smaller caravans shall be towed down the lane and put in the paddock. Don’t look so put out, Meg. It solves the problem, and I’m quite able to look after myself!”
    “Yes, I expect you are,” Meg acknowledged. “But where do I come in, Uncle Andra?”
    “My dear—” He looked at her very kindly, but all the same, Meg knew that he wasn’t going to retreat by a single inch. “You’ve been a dear, good girl, the way you’ve fallen in with my wishes, but your heart’s not really in the project, is it?”
    “Not to the same degree that yours is, perhaps,” Meg admitted reluctantly. “But all the same, I don’t like leaving you to it. I shall feel as if I’m deserting.”
    “You’ll be doing nothing of the sort,” Uncle Andra said firmly and, Meg thought, with a hint of anxiety which suggested that, in fact, he would really prefer to be on his own. “As I’ve already said, I can look after myself, and really there’s no need for both of us to be here. What, after all, could you do once the weather really breaks and you can’t do anything more in the garden?”
    “Nothing, really,” Meg was compelled to admit, sure now that she had been right in thinking he wanted to be on his