Lou’s mind dragged her thoughts away from the Mandevilles and to another day in a different coroner’s court. There had been no veils, no packed galleries and no jury when Lou and her brothers sat before the coroner. They didn’t have to attend. The family liaison officer explained the purpose of the inquest was to establish the facts of an unexplained death, not guilt. There would be witnesses, but it was not a trial. They may prefer not to hear the specific detail. Only a few bored-looking officials had been present to bear witness to the coroner open and then adjourn the inquest until the New Year, pending further evidence gathering.

Lou gripped her pencil, threatening to snap it in half. What more evidence did the coroner need? Someone had stolen a car and driven it into her mum, causing catastrophic internal injuries. They had driven off and left her for dead. Had a similar anger to that which now blazed in her heart filled the hearts of the Mandevilles? Had Edward, Lady Mandeville, and Mrs Hart contained their rage as they listened to the details of Charlotte’s death? If Bertie, a boy of only ten years of age at the time, had known that George’s brutality had driven Charlotte to her death, then surely the adults must have. George had been free to marry and terrorise Charlotte. There had been nobody to stop him. There had been no Tom.

‘Old newspapers. That looks interesting,’ a voice came from behind her.

Lou spun around. A young man was looking over her shoulder at the screen.

‘What is it?’ he asked ‘A report into an inquest? Makes a change from The Daily Mail and online sudoku.’ He glanced at the old man and two old ladies as he struggled to tuck a file beneath his arm, freeing a hand to shake Lou’s. ‘Will,’ he said. ‘Trainee archivist and full time nosey parker.’

‘Lou Arnold,’ Lou said quietly, conscious they had come under the beady-eye of Mrs Rogers.

‘Family research?’ Will asked.

‘Not quite. I live over by Hill House. I was just … I was just interested in the history of the family that used to live there.’

‘Ah, a budding local historian. Do you need any help?’ His response was a little too animated and drew a frown from Mrs Rogers. He nodded towards a door at the back of the library and mouthed to her to follow him. Lou collected her notepad and pencil. If this Will person knew the records, he might be able to fast track her research.

Will unlocked the door, and they entered a cramped room with just enough space for a desk and a row of shelves packed with ledgers and archive boxes. Closing the door behind them, he dumped his file on a desk crowded with boxes of index cards. Lou took in his faded jeans and oversized knitted sweater. With a pang of nostalgia, she remembered her fellow history students from Sheffield who she hadn’t seen or contacted in years. She had ignored every invitation to reunions and alumni events.