Sleep gave everyone a break from the story.
For the next eight hours, at least, our two foolish young travelers were safely asleep. Whatever strange ideas were filling their heads, they were not going to cause any more trouble while they slept.
Jessie was sleeping peacefully.
She was only seventeen, yet she was now traveling with a complete stranger—a man from an ordinary background whose accent was hardly elegant. They were alone, without a chaperone, and she was no longer ashamed of what she had done.
In fact, now that she believed herself safe, she was beginning to feel rather proud of her part in the adventure.
As for Hoopdriver, he was sleeping just as peacefully.
He was an ordinary shop assistant who had somehow ended up with a stolen bicycle, a young woman who had supposedly been stolen away, and two false names.
He was also staying in a hotel he could barely afford.
And yet, as he slept, he felt wonderfully proud of himself.
Of course, there was always the possibility that he would be arrested first thing the next morning for taking the bicycle.
Back in Bognor, things were not looking much better.
The steak Hoopdriver had ordered at the coffee tavern had probably been sitting there long enough to turn into a piece of coal.
His small suitcase was still in the bedroom.
His own bicycle was locked safely in the hayloft.
Soon enough, people might begin wondering where he had gone.
They might even start looking for his body along the seafront.
And then there was Jessie’s home in Surbiton.
Her stepmother was no ordinary woman.
In fact, you may already know her.
Her real name was Mrs. Milton, but the literary world knew her as Thomas Plantagenet, the author of the famous book A Soul Untrammelled.
She was a talented writer and, in many ways, a perfectly respectable woman.
The trouble was that she had some very strange ideas about respectability.
She was a widow, only about ten years older than Jessie, and she always dedicated her more daring books to the “sacred memory” of her late husband.
That allowed her to write about almost anything while pretending that none of it had anything to do with her own life.
Despite her reputation as a bold writer, she was extremely proper in everyday life.
Her house was tastefully furnished.
Her clothes were always correct.
She was careful about the people she met.
She went to church.
Sometimes she even took Communion, although nobody was quite sure what private meaning she attached to it.
She had also been extremely strict with Jessie.
So strict, in fact, that she never allowed Jessie to read A Soul Untrammelled.
Naturally, Jessie read it anyway.
Then she discovered a whole world of advanced literature.
Mrs. Milton had also been very slow to let Jessie grow up.
At seventeen, Jessie was still more like a clever schoolgirl than a young woman.
She was kept far away from the center of the literary circle that surrounded her stepmother.
Mrs. Milton knew that Bechamel had a reputation for being dangerous.
But she believed that a bad man was one thing and a bad woman another.
So she allowed him into her house partly because she wanted to prove that she was not afraid of him.
She simply failed to think carefully about Jessie.
When Jessie finally ran away with Bechamel, Mrs. Milton was devastated.
She immediately understood what had happened.
She also did what a respectable literary woman was supposed to do in such circumstances.
She hired expensive cabs.
She cried to her closest friends.
She repeatedly said that she had no idea what she was going to do.
She could not have behaved more dramatically if Jessie had been her own daughter.
And the funny thing was that her grief was completely genuine.
Mrs. Milton had never been comfortable with Jessie growing into an independent young woman.
Jessie, for her part, had disliked having a stepmother almost from the beginning.
She had started objecting to Mrs. Milton when she was only fourteen.
As the years passed, their relationship became worse and worse.
Their rivalry could become ridiculous.
They could turn something as small as a dropped hairpin or a book cut with a knife into another battle.
Most people are not deliberately cruel.
Usually, selfishness and foolishness are enough to produce almost the same results.
And when Jessie disappeared, Mrs. Milton genuinely regretted how badly their relationship had deteriorated.
Her friends were delighted to help comfort her.
The literary neighborhoods of West Kensington, Notting Hill, and Hampstead were soon buzzing with the story.
Mrs. Milton had a whole group of male friends and admirers who were always ready to help.
They called themselves her “Men.”
They were excited, sympathetic, and full of plans.
Almost every conversation began with the same question.
“Any news of Jessie?”
Mrs. Milton was especially impressive when speaking to these men.
She was not quite so openly emotional with them as she was with her female friends.
Instead, she became quiet and tragic.
For three whole days—Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday—there was no news of Jessie and Bechamel.
Everyone knew roughly what Jessie had taken with her.
She had left early in the morning wearing her cycling clothes and riding a modern safety bicycle.
She had taken about two pounds and seven shillings in cash.
She also had a gray traveling case.
And she had left a short note for her stepmother.
The note was supposedly a declaration of independence.
It contained a long argument about her right to live her own life, along with several quotations from A Soul Untrammelled.
But it did not say where she was going.
Very few people were allowed to read the note.
And those who did were sworn to secrecy.
Then, late on Friday evening, one of Mrs. Milton’s male friends arrived.
His name was Widgery.
He was a correspondent and had heard about the disappearance almost immediately.
He had been traveling around Sussex, and his backpack was still hanging from his shoulders.
“I’ve heard something,” he said.
Mrs. Milton looked at him anxiously.
“About Jessie?”
“Yes. I was in Midhurst.”
He quickly explained what he had heard from the barmaid at the Angel Hotel.
“There was a young woman in gray on a bicycle.”
Mrs. Milton’s face changed.
“Jessie!”
“The description matches.”
“But who was the man with her?”
“I don’t know.”
Mrs. Milton rose suddenly, one hand pressed against her heart.
“The poor girl! I must go to her at once.”
“You can’t go tonight,” Widgery said.
“There are no more trains. I checked before coming here.”
She looked devastated.
“A mother’s love,” she whispered.
“I understand.”
“No one knows what has happened to her.”
Widgery spoke gently.
“She may have made a terrible mistake, but she is still your responsibility.”
“Don’t speak harshly about her,” Mrs. Milton said.
“She has been misled.”
Widgery nodded.
“Of course.”
Then he hesitated.
“I’m only sorry I don’t know anything more.”
He looked at her.
“Would you like me to follow them?”
“Follow them?”
“Yes. I could go to Midhurst and see if I can find them.”
Mrs. Milton immediately took his hand.
“That is very kind of you.”
She looked into the fire.
“And to think of that poor girl out there tonight. It is dreadful.”
“We should follow her,” Widgery said.
“She must be brought home.”
Mrs. Milton shook her head sadly.
“I have no one to go with me.”
“You shouldn’t go alone.”
“She has no friends.”
Mrs. Milton sighed.
“After all, there are only two of us women.”
Widgery was deeply moved.
He looked at her with admiration.
“Mrs. Milton… Hetty…”
She glanced at him.
“Not now,” she said softly.
“I must find her first.”
“Yes,” Widgery said.
His voice was full of emotion.
“Let me help you.”
“But can you really spare the time?”
“For you?”
“Yes.”
Widgery straightened.
“I’ll make the time.”
“But what can we do?”
“Go to Midhurst.”
“Then follow the trail.”
“She was there on Thursday night.”
“She rode out of the town.”
Widgery’s voice became enthusiastic.
“Courage! We can still save her.”
Mrs. Milton reached out and pressed his hand.
“Thank you.”
“Courage,” he repeated.
He was clearly pleased with the effect of the word.
Just then, there was movement outside.
Mrs. Milton turned toward the fire.
Widgery settled himself into the large armchair.
A moment later, the door opened.
Another young man entered.
His name was Dangle.
He looked from Mrs. Milton to Widgery.
Something emotional was clearly happening.
Mrs. Milton quickly explained.
“You’re one of my good friends too.”
“And we finally have news of Jessie.”
Dangle immediately decided that he must help.
Widgery was not especially pleased.
But in the end, Dangle was added to the expedition.
Then another young man joined them.
His name was Phipps.
He was young, inexperienced, and rarely said much.
But he was completely devoted to Mrs. Milton.
Before the evening was over, the rescue party had been formed.
All three men would search the countryside for Jessie.
Mrs. Milton seemed slightly happier.
But she was also deeply moved.
“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve such friends,” she said.
Her voice trembled.
She turned toward the door.
Phipps immediately jumped up and opened it for her.
He was clearly delighted to have found something useful to do.
Dangle looked at Widgery.
“She is terribly upset.”
“We have to do whatever we can.”
“She is an extraordinary woman,” Dangle continued.
“So intelligent. So complicated. She must be suffering terribly.”
Phipps said nothing.
But he felt every word even more deeply than Dangle did.
And people still say that the age of chivalry is dead.
But that was enough about the rescue party for now.
While Mrs. Milton and her three loyal companions prepared to chase after the fugitives, our two travelers were enjoying something much simpler.
Sleep.
They needed it.
So we shall leave the rescue party alone for a little while.
There was Mrs. Milton in her neat gray traveling dress.
There was Widgery in his practical Norfolk jacket and heavy boots.
There was the energetic Dangle.
And there was young Phipps in his golf clothes, with his rather unfortunate-looking checked trousers.
They were all coming after Jessie.
Soon enough, they would catch up with our travelers.
In Midhurst, the three men went about their search in very different ways.
Widgery was excellent at asking questions.
Dangle was good at drawing conclusions from small details.
Phipps, unfortunately, seemed to be bad at almost everything.
He knew it.
That made him miserable.
For most of the day, he sulked.
Mrs. Milton stayed at the Angel Hotel, looking sad, intelligent, and deeply concerned.
Widgery paid the hotel bill on Saturday afternoon.
By then, they had reached Chichester.
But our two fugitives had already moved on.
And that is where we shall return to them now.