By the time Ursula made up her mind to go and look for the cats the light had nearly gone. At first she tried to persuade herself that her anxiety about the animals was foolish. They were hiding, playing some sort of game with her. What harm could they come to here? One might go missing but together they would be safe. So while she waited for the tea to brew she put away the rest of her shopping and went to feed the hens their layers’ mash. Then she poured out the tea and opened a packet of supermarket biscuits. She sat in the chair by the Aga and must have dozed off because when she awoke with a start her tea was cold and the room was almost dark. The cats’ food was still untouched in the corner and she was thrown suddenly into panic. She went upstairs, switching on lights, peering under beds, calling them, then, knowing that she would settle to nothing until she knew they were safe, she decided she would have to go out to look for them.

On a hook by the door hung a large gaberdine coat, which she had always used for going out at night during lambing. There was still a torch in the pocket. She pulled on heavy wellington boots which were so wide at the top that they flapped around her legs, then she left the house and set off up the hill. It had been clear all day, and now, out of the house, there was enough light to see the whole of the valley spread below her. There was no real village. That had disappeared in 1963 when Crowford was flooded to provide a reservoir to supply the cities of the industrial north-east and Carlisle. The church and chapel were under the lake, visible only as ruins in times of drought when the water was low. At the bottom of the valley, below the dam, was the Cadver, the big house. She could see it better from here on the hill than from the road, where its privacy was protected by high stone walls and acres of woodland.

Bloody Grenville, she thought, as she climbed steeply through the field behind her house to the dry-stone wall where the cats hunted sometimes, prowling delicately over the top, attracted by the small birds that nested there. Grenville owned most of the land in the valley and she blamed him, irrationally, for all its ills.

At the wall she paused to catch her breath and looked down. It was very cold. She felt in her pocket and pulled out a length of string which she tied around her waist to act as a belt. She looked almost directly on to the roof of her house and saw that she had left the lights on and the kitchen door open.

‘Lottie!’ she called. ‘Belle! Where are you, you infernal animals?’