A little way off, a group of men sat on upturned logs, huddled around an open fire, eating slabs of pie wrapped in waxy paper. The dogs looked up longingly; their wagging tails flicking up puffs of snow as they waited for crumbs of pastry to drop their way.

Laughter from the marquee mixed with the low rumble of the voices outside, but Lou was too far away to hear the conversation of either party distinctly. Suddenly, one voice rose above all the others. ‘Oi! What do you think you’re doin’ there?’

It was only when a large man jumped up and lumbered in the direction of the wood, that she realised he was shouting at her. She turned and ran, hiding behind the trunk of a large oak. Why was she hiding? She could have gone into the marquee to join the party for lunch if she wanted to. But she didn’t want to.

She heard the man’s laboured breathing. ‘Where are you?’ he shouted.

‘What’s going on?’ another man’s voice called.

Lou slammed her hand across her mouth, afraid that breathing alone might give her away. There was no time for a confrontation; she had to get to the library. If someone saw her, at best she would get dragged into the marquee. At worst, she would have to explain her behaviour the previous evening.

‘I saw someone, sir,’ the man wheezed. ‘A woman sneaking around in the trees. Some of ‘em caused a scene at the Huntingdean shoot last week, so their gamekeeper told me.’

‘Quite.’

‘Will I get one of the dogs to hunt her down? She can’t have got far. We’ll flush her out.’

‘What? No. There’s no need for that. Go back and finish your lunch, Campbell.’

‘The beaters’ll be ready to start again in five minutes, sir. P’raps getting caught in the firing line’ll teach her a thing or two. Won’t look so clever, then.’

‘Tell the beaters to be ready to start again in ten minutes.’

‘But that’ll give her a head start –’

‘Ten minutes, I said.’

There was a note of disappointment in the man’s voice when he said, ‘Very good, Captain Mandeville.’

After a few moments of silence, Lou peered around the trunk. Tom was standing on the edge of the clearing, hands on hips, scanning the line of trees. Lou didn’t hear the noise until it was too late. A drift of snow fell through the branches above her head and crashed on to the ground below. She retreated behind the tree but not before Tom spun around. For a fleeting moment, she was sure he caught her eye.

Lou waited. When Tom didn’t appear, she peered around the truck and saw him heading towards the marquee.

She ran back through the woods and didn’t stop until she reached St Mary’s. The first crack of the afternoon’s gunfire echoed around the countryside, and she stumbled over a hidden root, tripping and falling heavily to her knees. She got up and ran again, her lungs burning, her heart pounding. Once she was clear of the woods, she turned and ran down the drive.