They opened the rickety gate and walked up to the front door. There was no answer when they rapped on it and nothing to be seen when they peered in through the window. No one seemed to be at home.

‘Is there a back door? Shall we try that?’ Maggie asked.

Gwen shook her head. ‘’Spect so. I’ve never been here before.’

Maggie frowned. ‘But I thought you were friends?’

‘We never held the knitting circle here. Maureen always made an excuse. She blamed it on her husband. I assumed he wasn’t well and that a houseful of gossiping women would be too much.’

Round the back, Maggie tried the door handle and it opened.

They called Mrs Mason’s name and walked through to the kitchen.

‘Oh, my word!’ Gwen cried out.

The housekeeper was lying on her side on the stone-flagged floor, her limbs at strange angles.

‘Is she … is she …?’ Maggie asked, as Gwen rushed forwards and touched her wrist.

‘No, there’s a pulse, but she’s out cold. There, she’s coming round. Get me a glass of water from the sink there, would you, Maggie?’

Mrs Mason tried to get up but she couldn’t manage it. She collapsed back with a cry of anguish. ‘I must’ve fallen,’ she said. Her voice was muffled. Gwen bent down and touched her face. When she lifted her hand, it was covered in blood.

‘We’ll have to fetch a doctor.’

Mrs Mason shook her head and pushed Gwen’s hand away. ‘No, no, there’s no need. I’m fine. Help me up into that chair.’

‘Where’s your husband, Mrs Mason?’ Maggie asked. Surely, they should let him know?

Another voice – a woman standing in the open doorway – answered, ‘He’s at the pub, most like. I live next door. He ain’t done it again, has he?’

Mrs Mason was groaning now and between them they managed to lift her onto an armchair next to the empty fire grate. She held her head in her hands.

While Gwen soothed her, Maggie put the kettle on. A nice cup of tea always made things a bit better.

‘Knocks her about,’ the woman said, lowering her voice until it was almost a whisper. ‘Ain’t you ever noticed, all the cuts and bruises?’

* * *

A little while later, after she’d had a cup of tea and Gwen had bathed the wound on her head, Mrs Mason was sitting in her armchair, with rather more colour in her cheeks.

‘I should come with you, back to the Hall,’ she said, trying to stand, but Gwen pushed her gently back down.

‘Oh no. If you won’t see a doctor then at least you need to rest. Snowden can manage without you for a day or so.’

‘I’ll be there tomorrow, you can be sure,’ Mrs Mason said. There was a pause. She sighed and toyed with the material of her skirt.