Tess does as instructed and dumps the raggedy knitwear on the picnic bench in the garden. When she comes back Georgia is already lifting the remaining items out of the bag, one at a time.

‘One pair of studded boots. These were white once upon a time, I suppose. And a pair of trousers.’ She checks the pockets but finds nothing apart from some beach sand. ‘Two, no, three, four cricket balls, and two bats.’

Tess catches a glint of brown glass in the corner of the bag and reaches for it. ‘And a very old bottle of linseed oil.’ She holds it up to the light. ‘There’s still some inside.’

‘Put it all in the garden, please. We can deal with it properly later.’

‘Are you sure you don’t want to do this in private?’

Georgia lays a hand on the box marked “Finlay”. ‘I thought about that when I watched you carrying the boxes down that ladder. But this house is your home now, and these people lived here before either of us. You are part of the story of the place and you might even have a box of your own one day, who knows?’ She traces the painted letters with her finger. ‘And this is a mystery, so I need a Lewis.’

‘A Lewis?’

‘If I am going to be Inspector Morse, I need a Sergeant Lewis to be my bag woman. I think that’s how it was described in the TV series. Someone to question what I’m thinking and make sure it’s correct.’

‘Alright.’ Tess is still not completely sure.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to tell you when I’ve had enough. Now, which box is likely to be the easiest?’

‘No idea.’

‘We’ve got to start somewhere. House. It looks as good as any of them.’ She cuts the string and opens the box. ‘Diaries. Lots of them.’ She opens the cover of the first one that comes to hand and flips through the pages to the end. ‘1921. Look, there’s a diary in the front half and lots of pages for notes at the back.’ She turns a few pages. ‘I think this is Ursula’s handwriting. I’ve seen it on the back of old photographs.’

‘What does it say?’

‘It looks like the planning notes for a trip to France. There are train times and ferry costs. I wonder if she was going on holiday?’

Tess leans over the box. ‘Shall I take the rest of them out so we can have a proper look?’

‘Good idea.’

Tess sets the black books out on the table. ‘We’ve got 1919, 1913 . . .’ She sorts the first dozen into chronological order. ‘The first one is from 1911.’

‘I think these will bear closer examination in due course. Are there other years?’