The sense of urgency, which had been tugging at K very strongly while he remained at the Palmers’, now eased into a sense of satisfaction at being on his way at last. He began to feel quite merry as he strode along, so much so that a song sprang from his lips, almost without a thought. It was a song from his teenage years, of which he knew only half the words and so made up the rest with a mixture of plausible lines and nonsense syllables. Like a musical daisy chain, when he reached the end of one song, he found it segued neatly into another, and another, until all at once he stopped singing, and found himself savouring the silence and stillness of the fields around him.

In this way the first leg of his journey passed in high spirits, with an edge of over-excitement. He noticed a lot more of his surroundings on this return journey, and a great many things that were unfamiliar or that had escaped his notice on the way. Lines of trees, hedges, and hills on either side seemed to mark out alien terrain, and he felt the first cracks of concern as thought on how breezy it had been following at Horace’s side, almost with his eyes shut. Now on his own, he felt there were far too many things attracting his attention and diverting him with doubts. Didn’t that tree look familiar? Had he not come down that gravelly slope to the right? No answer was forthcoming to any questions he might have.

He staggered on a wobbly course, trying to keep straight as the crow flies, except where a line of bushes or a ditch made him wiggle round. The sun, which he’d cursed the day before, now became his greatest ally, for its unguarded rays cast shadows like the needles of a compass on the ground, and he put aside all thought of landmarks as he recalled what Mrs. Palmer had said. So simple a solution to this simply conundrum – of finding his way again – came as a great relief, and he laughed aloud for joy, his high spirits restored.

Somehow or other, he’d known from his first arrival that in a place like the Postlethwaite estate, one could only keep sane by maintaining a child-like simplicity of approach, even an animal instinct for making decisions at a fundamental level. This kind of thing came naturally enough for our lawyer, though the shrewder voices in his head posed enough objections to keep him on his toes. Right now they began to suggest that he’d been rather silly to take off so impulsively, leaving his new friends and gracious hosts in the lurch. To be sure, they had a point, he thought, but the decision had been made now, and there was no point turning back. For some minutes he continued in this peaceful state. Then, another murmur: what did he expect to do when he got back, anyway? What had changed since the day before? He had no answer to this, and it troubled him. His pace slackened a bit, and he felt the first tinglings of weariness in his body. Now, the sceptics pulled out all the stops, and played their best hand: ‘you don’t have a clue what you’re doing, do you? You’d rather be anywhere than the estate, but when you leave you aren’t satisfied. What is another change of mind going to achieve?’ At this point he stopped in his tracks, at a loss. That was a mistake, for on top of it all he now felt very foolish for the elation he’d felt earlier, given how easily it had evaporated, giving way to this listlessness.

Yet a bit of the real, clear-thinking Joseph lit up now – like a candle in a dark house. ‘What’s the matter with me? Am I going to be undone by a few doubts?’ He sat down for a moment on a nearby tree stump, to collect his senses. The hills round about appeared very wild and barren indeed, and the words ‘undeclared territory’ rose vividly to his mind. The slightest inkling of a notion, that in such a place as this one might expect to be sprung upon by robbers or bandits – the kind of lawless vagrants who fit in neither on the estate nor in settlements like the Palmers’ – now reared up. Far from frightening him, the idea crossed that border into the absurd, and set him laughing. Ridiculous images of ragged, moustachioed men in bandanas, swinging cutlasses and toting pistols, leaping out from behind the trees, was just the kind of thought to break the tension of the moment and bring him back to reality.

Still chuckling at this, he slipped a hand into his coat pocket and found – to his great cheer – a bit of bread and piece of fruit he’d taken the previous day in case of need. Tucking into these he felt well again – neither excited nor despondent, but simply determined to keep on without concern for the consequences. The sun was only getting lower, and he knew he’d have to press on with a will if he was to get back before evening fell.

Once on his feet again, with the sun already less intense and a light breeze at his back, it was easy for K to get going. The short stop had done him good. After half an hour or so of silent trudging through unmarked fields, he had another cheering moment – a first sighting of the outer wall of the grounds. Just a distant grey line under a sky of orange and lilac hue; still it was unmistakably the border of his home territory.

He could not account for why it appeared so to him at that moment – he didn’t feel any great loyalty to the place, but his brush with the outside world had made a mixed impression, and the rustic life had sunk no claws into him yet. Now that it was in view, the estate put him in mind of rich, hearty food; bright lights in great, spacious and crowded rooms; shielded against the elements; and routines run like clockwork. All this was entirely favourable to him after his shallow sleep in that cramped cabin of Horace’s. Childish as the thought was, his spirit soared and his stomach rumbled at the prospect of a meal not consisting of garden herbs and root vegetables.

As he came closer to the wall, he could make out a few distant figures – more than specks on the horizon, but hardly discernible – emerging from the exit he’d taken the day before. It was good timing, for he could now head in the right the direction without having to comb the perimeter for a gap in the wall. Yet, about midway towards them it occurred to K that he might not want to run into anyone coming out of the estate, but it was too late to hide, for he had surely been seen. Alas, when he drew level with them he recognised several of the lads he’d met that morning, led by the one who’d taken a dislike to him.

‘Ho there! Mr. K! Back so soon?’ Nick Pits halted in front of him, barring the way.

‘Excuse me,’ was all K said, walking around this human blockade.

‘I said: back so soon, Mr. K’ The boy called out, swivelling to face him.

‘As you see.’ K replied, now passing the other lads, some of whom glared at him with suspicion, others looked fairly embarrassed.

‘Write us a good report, dear! And don’t come looking for us again, or we won’t take so kindly to you.’

K did his best to shrug off this threat, recalling Livy’s derisive comments about Pits earlier – but he didn’t like the look of some of his companions, by the sheer size of them. When someone called out his name, a minute later, he jumped – but it was none of the lads. Horace, who’d been plodding along some way off, had just come up to him.

‘Joseph, I hope you had a good stay with us...’ his bulldog face was creased with concern.

‘Oh, it was lovely. I’m sorry – I only just remembered I have something urgent to attend to up here.’ K stammered this excuse, half ashamed at the lie.

‘Well, I hope you resolve that smoothly. See you on the estate tomorrow, around lunch time?’

Meeting agreed, they parted on good terms, and K could finally enter the grounds, unnoticed and undisturbed. He’d reached them at the right time, for various gardeners and orchard workers were bearing their tools and wandering lazily along the same route he had to take. It was easy to follow at a distance, for dusk was swiftly falling, and no one took any notice of him. He was grateful for this, for he’d begun to wonder if there would be no end to his running into familiar faces out of place and out of time.

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There was no sign of Tollswhip in the dinner hall when he got there, among the few hundred diners. The feeling of anonymity now provoked a pang of loneliness, but K soon forgot about this as a deep sense of fatigue set in, and, passing over dessert, he sloped off to his room. He wondered if his hunch were going to pay off – that it had been so urgent and essential that he return to the estate. Everything he saw was disappointingly familiar, and called no answers to mind.

It was thus in a crestfallen mood that he reached his own quarters, and turned the handle of his door to find it… locked. He tried it again, several times. It wouldn’t budge. He then knocked as loudly as he could, and this at last produced a result. There was a sound like a chair scraping against the floor, and the noise of someone approaching. The door opened a crack, and K saw a single, watery blue staring out of the gap, set in a strip of pale, anaemic face.

‘Can I help, sir?’ a dusty-sounding voice asked.

‘You could tell me what you’re doing in my living quarters, locking me out.’ K answered, somewhat sharply, for he hadn’t liked this person’s condescending tone. The door shut again in his face, and he heard some muttering, as if a conversation were taking place within. A moment later, and the door opened wide to admit him.

Inside, save for the familiar whitewashed walls, the room was scarcely recognisable. There were three people crammed in there with chairs and desks; piles of documents littered every available surface; and the wall was covered with charts and graphs. The bed had been pushed to the far wall, and was capped with a table-top to form another makeshift desk, and all K’s personal belongings seemed to have been removed.

‘What is going on here?’ K asked, dumbfounded, looking to each of the three occupants in turn. Two of them – a timorous young man and woman, whom he recognised as some of Tollswhip’s underlings – looked away from him, with every indication of wanting to be left alone to get on with their work. The third, an older man who’d addressed him already, now took charge of the situation. He was thin and gaunt, with a flop of white hair and a kind of glacial, old-school politeness.

‘Mr. K, I take it?’ he said, with the shadow of a smile. ‘I’m afraid that, following your suspension of approximately 36 hours ago, and given your sudden, wilful vacation of your rooms, it has been the estate manager’s good pleasure to repurpose these same premises for important clerical work.’

Here K tried to speak, but the old fellow cut over him in a fractionally louder tone.

‘Since, Mr. K, you have gone AWOL, by all accounts, according to the statutes enshrined in our estate’s constitution (which, I am sure you, as a lawyer, will have taken the time to read), you forfeited any say in the matter. Naturally,’ he went on, scarcely pausing for breath, ‘now that you have returned from this unauthorised leave of absence, you are fully entitled to raise an appeal. I am sure the estate manager – Mr. Tollswhip – would be delighted to discuss the matter with you, if you were to make an appointment. Until then… why, Mr. K – Mr. K, sir. Really! I think we might...’

Too tired and overwhelmed by this fresh blow, K had ceased listening to the man and had barged his way into the en suite where, thankfully, he found his bag and all his possessions piled up neatly in one place. He’d then proceeded to sweep the documents off the surface of his bed, wrenched the table top off, and had begun to arrange the bedclothes. The other two clerks pretended not to notice any of this, their noses buried in documents, but there was a squeak from one of them when he’d knocked the papers onto the floor. The spokesman for Tollswhip spluttered and blustered indignantly as K now remove his coat and tucked himself into bed.

‘Mr. K, sir! This is a working environment; you have no right to make yourself at home here! Do you not take my meaning sir? ’

‘Don’t mind me! Carry on by all means.’ K yawned, rolling onto his side. One of the clerks gave a snort of laughter – quickly stifled – while the elder gaped and glared like an astonished turkey.

‘Well, really! I never – such flagrant, mindless insubordination...’ his muttering soon formed a lively counterpoint to the regular, rhythmic snores that began to sound from the other end of the room.

Eventually, in order to settle his nerves, the leader of the clerks sat down and began to fill out one of their standard complaint forms – a simple leaflet with a mere 300 multiple choice questions to answer. Once he’d got stuck into this he cheered right up, content to know that he’d done his bit, and that in due time – a period of some months – this complaint would reach the estate manager’s desk. Thus Mr. K would receive his just desserts, the rebellious lout! So the night passed peacefully for all concerned.

When K came to, all was still in the room. The scribbling pens of the clerks had ceased scratching, not one voice was murmuring vain protestations. Indeed, the room was empty again, but for him; the clerks must have reached the end of their shift, or else gone off for a break. Seizing the opportunity, K hopped out of bed and dragged one of the work desks over to the door as a makeshift barricade, then went out and had a good, thorough wash in the bathroom, with plenty of steam and hot water.

When he came out, in fresh clothes, feeling himself again, K noticed for the first time that a tray had been left for him by his bed – someone had left him some breakfast. There was butter, bread rolls, a bit of bacon, and even some coffee – still warm. Thanking his mysterious servant profusely, K tucked in. Only once he’d finished did he notice a couple of envelopes had been placed under a plate on the tray – both addressed to him.

Opening the window to let a breeze into the stuffy room, and settling down comfortably in a chair, K opened the first of these letters – an official-looking document with all the formal, estate insignia printed on it – and began to read.

Mr. Joseph K. Word has reached me – through Travis, who saw you at dinner last night, though you did not see him – of your return to the estate from your illicit wanderings in regions outside our jurisdictions. No doubt, glib explanations will be forthcoming from you, sir. That is not to our purpose. It is fortunate (for you) that you have come back in just the closest possible time, for we find ourselves in one of those rare situations in which your presence as a legal advisor to the estate authorities may be of some, possible, use. It is my duty to inform you that Her Ladyship had requested your presence (for the first time) at a reading of our late Lord Postlethwaite II’s last will and testament. You will report to me – Ananias Tollswhip – this evening at 7 o’clock for a debrief, before we attend to Her Ladyship at 8 o’clock. Yours, by anticipation,

Mr. Ananias Tollswhip, Estate Manager etc. etc.

K couldn’t work out which detail of this letter disturbed him most. Whether it was being on first name terms with this officious oppressor, knowing that Travis had turned traitor and spy (for that was how he saw it in his surprise), or that he was going to be required to do some actual legal work for the first time in months. Granted, the last of these would, in normal circumstances, have come as a relief to him, but the careless attitude he’d adopted recently, combined with the simple fact that he was out of his depth among such persons as Lady Avonhurst, made it an intimidating prospect.

A glance at the clock on the wall (one of the recent changes) told him he still had a good 8 hours until his meeting with Tollswhip. That was more than enough time to do some cramming of the legislation around wills and so forth. He had his own student textbook with him, but he fancied he’d have to drop into the office to get at some more authoritative sources. A basic plan formed itself – simple, and reassuring. Somewhere in his brain it was as if a switch had been flipped, and he was back to being his old, diligent self from as far back as his school days. Reality itself was condensed and simplified to the point where it encompassed only the task at hand. The second letter on the tray he picked up only half-consciously, and slipped it into a coat pocket – for his thoughts were elsewhere. What is more, it only then dawned on him that for the past few minutes there had been some noise outside the door. The clerks had returned from their break and were trying, in vain, to get back in through the blockaded entrance. The meaningless noise now took on the form of an elderly voice reciting a litany of complaints and transgressions of the law.

‘Just a moment!’ K called to the gentleman, as he leapt to his feet and began dragging the desk aside from the doorway.

‘She’s all yours.’ He said, as the fellow stumbled in and he himself went out, leaving the room in those trembling, but capable hands.