George shrugged. ‘ I don’t know,’ he said. ‘The animal rights supporters go to extreme lengths. There have been bombs, you remember, in supermarkets and in a scientist’s car, but in those situations the organisation admitted responsibility. It’s possible, I suppose, that they’re building up to some sort of campaign and the phone calls to the papers were a first step. Marcus might have been chosen because he’s a public figure. And any rumours of cruelty on the estate would make him a natural target. If pole traps were being used, for example. Or poison…’

The statement hung like a question and Marcus Grenville reacted immediately. ‘I’ve already told you, George. There’s nothing like that going on here.’

‘Besides,’ Molly said. ‘Didn’t you say that the caller to the newspaper office was a man?’

‘That means nothing,’ George said. ‘ The activists work in small groups. One of the other members of the group could have made the call.’

‘Rather melodramatic, don’t you think?’ Olivia said. ‘Not the sort of thing you’d expect in Crowford.’

‘All the same, we’ll look into it,’ George said. ‘If that’s what Marcus wants.’

‘Yes,’ Grenville said, uncertainly. ‘ Yes, I’d like you to look into it.’ Molly had the sense that the evening had not gone as he had planned.

A candle that had been lighting the table was blown out by a breeze. Olivia stood up. The room seemed suddenly cold. She led them into the drawing room where they all sat close to the fire and talked about Molly’s parents and Olivia’s grandfather. The talk of weekend house parties and balls took them into a different world and it was as if the previous conversation had never taken place.

They left the Cadver early. It was only ten o’clock but Grenville had retreated into an uncharacteristic silence, clutching his brandy glass and staring at the flames. Olivia, talking about the elegant society events of her youth, became more animated, but Molly could sense George’s boredom and decided they should leave before it was obvious to the others. Olivia stood at the head of the steps which led from the front door to the drive to wave them off. Grenville, who had grown more awkward in their company as the evening progressed, had muttered his apologies and said there was work to do before bed time. It seemed not to matter that no one believed him.

‘What did you make of all that, then?’ Molly asked as George drove up the road to Back Rigg. The rain of the early evening was over and there was a full moon, covered occasionally by brown clouds. The air was still damp and chilly. ‘I got the impression that Grenville was trying to protect Danny Craven. What reason could he have? There’s surely no shortage of competent keepers.’