Nikki turned and looked back up the hill, where the House was now a squat gray box. More people were arriving in the car park.

“Let’s get it over with.”

Under the trees, winter felt oddly close, with a dampness in the air that spoke of frosts and late-night mists. The dirt track they followed was riddled with muddy puddles, and Heather found herself concentrating so hard on walking on the drier areas that it was a surprise when they emerged out under the sky again. The grass was thick and overgrown, quickly turning the cuffs of Heather’s jeans dark with moisture. As they approached the trees on the far side, they saw that the woods were much thicker and darker, the path a little more overgrown. All of which made it something of a surprise, ten minutes later, to emerge onto a neatly manicured lawn with a well-maintained house sitting at the heart of it. More trees curled around the back of the house, which was built with dark stone similar to that of Fiddler’s Mill House itself, and on the gravel drive out front stood a sturdy looking green Landrover, mud on its wheels. Next to it was a smaller, more modern car, and as they watched, the front door of the house opened and an older woman emerged dressed in a dark green raincoat, a large carry-all clutched in both hands. She looked straight at them, clearly startled, and then leaned back in the door. They heard her speak, but did not catch what she said, and then the woman climbed into the smaller yellow car and drove away—there was a proper paved road on the far side of the grounds, disappearing into more trees.

“We’ve been spotted,” said Heather, unnecessarily.

As they walked toward the house, a shadow appeared at the door, not quite emerging into the light. When they were on the gravel drive, Heather could see it was a hunched old man, much older than the woman who had disappeared in the yellow car. He was watching them come, while leaning on a walking stick. There was a linoleum floor in the hallway; a green vine pattern against a sickly yellow background.

“Good morning!” She lifted her hand in greeting, but the man’s only response was to tip his head slightly to one side. Next to her, Nikki leaned in close and murmured in her ear.

“Let’s just keep walking and go up that road. I don’t think they like strangers round here.”

“Come on, just a quick chat. He might have known the area in the ’70s and ’80s—he certainly looks old enough.” They came to the door and the man shuffled out a little further to meet them. As the brittle morning light fell on their faces, she saw him frown abruptly, his gnarled hands clenching over the end of his walking stick. He was clearly ancient, his thin, creased skin speckled with moles and liver spots, encasing a head that had lost all but some of its hair, and he had oversized nose and ears, in the way of elderly men. His shoulders were rounded, almost seeming to push at the back of his balding head, and he wore a hearing aid, the beige nub of plastic sitting neatly within his ear.