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wasn’t until she came upon him hitting Cyril and thenturning on an unwary Oscar and kicking him aside that Amabel knew that she would have to do something about it.
    She scooped up a trembling Oscar and bent to put an arm round Cyril’s elderly neck. ‘How dare you? Whatever have they done to you? They’re my friends and I love them,’ she added heatedly, ‘and they have lived here all their lives.’
    Her stepfather stared at her. ‘Well, they won’t live here much longer if I have my way. I’m the boss here. I don’t like animals around the place so you’d best make up your mind to that.’
    He walked off without another word and Amabel, watching his retreating back, knew that she had to do something—and quickly.
    She went out to the orchard—there were piles of bricks and bags of cement already heaped near the bench, ready to start building the glasshouse—and with Oscar on her lap and Cyril pressed against her she reviewed and discarded several plans, most of them too far-fetched to be of any use. Finally she had the nucleus of a sensible idea. But first she must have some money, and secondly the right opportunity…
    As though a kindly providence approved of her efforts, she was able to have both. That very evening her stepfather declared that he would have to go to London in the morning. A useful acquaintance had phoned to say that he would meet him and introduce him to a wholesaler who would consider doing business with him once he was established. He would go to London early in the morning, and since he had a long day ahead of him he went to bed early.
    Presently, alone with her mother, Amabel seized what seemed to be a golden opportunity.
    â€˜I wondered if I might have some money for clothes, Mother. I haven’t bought anything since you went away…’
    â€˜Of course, love. I should have thought of that myself. And you did so well with the bed and breakfast business. Is there any money in the tea caddy? If there is take whatever you want from it. I’ll ask Keith to make you an allowance; he’s so generous…’
    â€˜No, don’t do that, Mother. He has enough to think about without bothering him about that; there’ll be enough in the tea caddy. Don’t bother him.’ She looked across at her mother. ‘You’re very happy with him, aren’t you, Mother?’
    â€˜Oh, yes, Amabel. I never told you, but I hated living here, just the two of us, making ends meet, no man around the place. When I went to your sister’s I realised what I was missing. And I’ve been thinking that perhaps it would be a good idea if you started some sort of training…’
    Amabel agreed quietly, reflecting that her mother wouldn’t miss her…
    Her mother went to bed presently, and Amabel made Oscar and Cyril comfortable for the night and counted the money in the tea caddy. There was more than enough for her plan.
    She went to her room and, quiet as a mouse, got her holdall out of the wardrobe and packed it, including undies and a jersey skirt and a couple of woollies; autumn would soon turn to winter…
    She thought over her plan when she was in bed; there seemed no way of improving upon it, so she closed her eyes and went to sleep.
    She got up early, to prepare breakfast for her stepfather, having first of all made sure that Oscar and Cyril weren’t in the kitchen. Once he had driven away she got her own breakfast, fed both animals and got dressed. Her mother came down, and over her coffee suggested that she might get the postman to give her a lift to Castle Cary.
    â€˜I’ve time to dress before he comes, and I can get my hair done. You’ll be all right, love?’
    It’s as though I’m meant to be leaving, reflected Amabel. And when her mother was ready, and waiting for the postman, reminded her to take a key with her—‘For I might go for a walk.’
    Amabel had