“You’re exhausted,” I said. “You ought to be lying down.”

She mumbled something and closed her eyes.

In a flash I had climbed up onto the wagon’s shafts and opened the door.

But whatever I had been expecting, it wasn’t this.

Inside, the caravan was a fairy tale on wheels. Although I had no time for more than a quick glance round, I noticed an exquisite cast-iron stove in the Queen Anne style, and above it a rack of blue-willow chinaware. Hot water and tea, I thought—essentials in all emergencies. Lace curtains hung at the windows, to provide first-aid bandages if needed, and a pair of silver paraffin lamps with red glass chimneys swung gently from their mounts for steady light, a bit of heat, and a flame for the sterilizing of needles. My training as a Girl Guide, however brief, had not been entirely in vain. At the rear, a pair of carved wooden panels stood half-open, revealing a roomy bunk bed that occupied nearly the whole width of the caravan.

Back outside, I helped the Gypsy to her feet, throwing one of her arms across my shoulder.

“I’ve folded the steps down,” I told her. “I’ll help you to your bed.”

Somehow, I managed to shepherd her to the front of the caravan where, by pushing and pulling, and by placing her hands upon the required holds, I was at last able to get her settled. During most of these operations, she seemed scarcely aware of her surroundings, or of me. But once tucked safely into her bunk, she appeared to revive somewhat.

“I’m going for the doctor,” I said. Since I’d left Gladys parked against the back of the parish hall at the fête, I realized I’d have to hoof it later, from Buckshaw back into the village.

“No, don’t do that,” she said, taking a firm grip on my hand. “Make a nice cup of tea, and leave me be. A good sleep is all I need.”