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all surprised to know that the twins are your nephew and niece, Doctor.’

       She gave him a small nod, smiled at the children and walked away; fortunately she didn’t see his wide grin.

       She was kept busy for quite some time; first getting a list of the children who would be staying for the night and then phoning Mrs Gower-Jones. That lady was in a cold rage; the nursery school would have to be closed down for the time being at least—her reputation would suffer—‘and you will be out of a job,’ she told Daisy nastily.

       Daisy realised that her employer was battling with strong emotions. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said soothingly, ‘but if you would just tell me what you want me to do next. Shall I stay until the children are collected?’

       ‘Well of course,’ said Mrs Gower-Jones ungratefully, ‘I’ve enough to do here and Mandy and Joyce are still clearing up. I have never seen such a frightful mess; really, I should have thought you girls could have controlled the children.’

       A remark which Daisy thought best not to answer.

       She phoned her mother then went back to organise the children who would be fetched as soon as their parents had been told. Anxious mothers and nannies began arriving and in the ensuing chaos of handing over the children fit to go home Daisy lost count of time. They all, naturally enough, wanted to see Mrs Gower-Jones, and since she wasn’t there several of them gave vent to their strong feelings, bombarding Daisy with questions and complaints. No matter that they had already had reassuring talks with Sister; they could hardly blame her for their children’s discomfiture, but Daisy, unassuming and polite, was a splendid target for their indignation. She was battling patiently with the last of the mothers, a belligerent lady who appeared to think that Daisy was responsible for the entire unfortunate affair, when Dr Seymour loomed up beside her.

       He had been there all the time, going to and fro with his houseman and registrar, making sure that the children were recovering, but Daisy had been too occupied to see him. Now he took the matter smoothly into his own hands.

       ‘A most unfortunate thing to happen; luckily, none of the children is seriously affected.’ He glanced down at the wan-faced small boy clutching his mother’s hand. ‘This little chap will be fine in a couple of days—Sister has told you what to do, I expect? This young lady is an assistant at the nursery school and is not to be blamed in any way. The matter will be investigated by the proper authorities but it is evident that the cause was either in the cooking or in the food. I suggest that you take the matter up with the principal of the school.’

       Daisy, listening to this, reflected that he had a pleasant voice, deep and unhurried and just now with a hint of steel in it. Which might have accounted for the ungracious apology she received before the small boy was borne away.

       ‘The last one?’ asked the doctor.

       ‘Yes. Only I’m not sure if I’m supposed to stay—there are the children who are to remain here for the night; their mothers are here but they might want to ask questions—the children’s clothes and so on.’

       ‘What’s the telephone number of this nursery school?’

       She told him, too tired to bother about why he wanted to know. She would have liked to go home but first she would have to go back and get her bike and very likely Mrs Gower-Jones would want a detailed account of what had transpired at the hospital. She yawned, and choked on it as Dr Seymour said from behind her, ‘Mrs Gower-Jones is coming here—she should have been here in the first place. You will go home.’ It was a statement, not a suggestion and he turned on his heel and then paused. ‘How?’

       ‘I have my bike at the school.’ She hesitated. ‘And my purse and things.’

       ‘They’ll be there in the morning; you can fetch them. The place will be closed as a nursery school at least for the time being. Did you come like that?’

       She frowned. ‘Yes.’

       ‘I’ll drive you to your home. Come along.’

       Daisy, a mild girl, said, ‘No, thank you,’ with something of a snap. But that was a waste of time.

       ‘Don’t be silly,’ advised Dr Seymour, and he caught her by the arm and marched her briskly out of the hospital and stuffed her into the Rolls while she was still thinking of the dignified reply she wished to make. No girl liked to be told she was silly.

       ‘Where to?’

       ‘Wilton.’

       ‘Where in Wilton?’

       ‘If you put me down by the market square…’

       He sighed. ‘Where in Wilton?’

       ‘Box Cottage—on the way to Burcombe. But I can easily walk…’

       He didn’t bother to answer as he drove through the city streets and along the main road to Wilton. Once there, within minutes, he turned left at the crossroads by the market. ‘Left or right?’ he asked.

       ‘On the left—the last cottage in this row.’

       He slowed the car and stopped, and to her surprise got out to open her door. He opened the little garden gate too, which gave her mother time to get to the door.

       ‘Darling, whatever has happened? You said the children were ill—’ Mrs Pelham took in Daisy’s appearance. ‘Are you ill too? You look as though you’ve been sick…’

       ‘Not me, the children, Mother, and I’m quite all right.’ Since the doctor was towering over her she remembered her manners and introduced him.

       ‘Dr Seymour very kindly gave me a lift.’

       ‘How very kind of you.’ Her mother smiled charmingly at him. ‘Do come in and have a cup of coffee.’

       He saw the look on Daisy’s face and his thin mouth twitched. ‘I must get back to the hospital, I’m afraid; perhaps another time?’

       ‘Any time,’ said Mrs Pelham largely, ignoring Daisy’s frown. ‘Do you live in Wilton? I don’t remember seeing your car…?’

       ‘In Salisbury, but I have a sister living along the Wylye valley.’

       ‘Well, we don’t want to keep you. Thank you for bringing Daisy home.’ Mrs Pelham offered a hand but Daisy didn’t. She had seen his lifted eyebrows at her name; Daisy was a silly name and it probably amused him. She wished him goodbye in a cool voice, echoing her mother’s thanks. She didn’t like him; he was overbearing and had ridden roughshod over her objections to being given a lift. That she would still have been biking tiredly from Salisbury without his offer was something she chose to ignore.

       ‘What a nice man,’ observed her mother as they watched the car sliding away, back to the crossroads. ‘How very kind of him to bring you home. You must tell us all about it, darling—’ she wrinkled her nose ‘—but perhaps you’d like a bath first.’

       When Daisy reached the nursery school in the morning she found Mrs Gower-Jones in a black mood. The cook had disappeared and the police were trying to trace her, she had had people inspecting her kitchen and asking questions and the school was to be closed until it had been thoroughly cleaned and inspected. A matter of some weeks, even months. ‘So you can take a week’s notice,’ said Mrs Gower-Jones. ‘I’ve seen the other girls too. Don’t expect to come back here either; if and when I open again parents won’t want to see any of you—they’ll always suspect you.’

       ‘I should have thought,’ observed Daisy in a reasonable voice, ‘that they would be more likely to suspect you, Mrs Gower-Jones. After all, you engaged the cook.’

       Mrs Gower-Jones had always considered Daisy to be a quiet, easily put-upon girl; now she looked at her in amazement while her face slowly reddened. ‘Well, really, Miss Pelham—how dare you say such a thing?’

       ‘Well, it’s true.’ Dasiy added without rancour, ‘Anyway I wouldn’t want to come back here to work; I’d

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