‘The crowd had been misled,’ said Camillo. ‘They ran after us and stones thudded round the sleigh. My mother was weeping. She had on all her jewellery and a great fur cloak over her nightdress. We drove from the outskirts of the town. There were men running with torches but the horse bolted past them. I was excited, too young to understand everything had been left behind. Out into the white woods we ran. Great spumes of snow roared up and the trees were like huge white candles, glowing under the moon. I sobered, thinking of sagas I had heard of wolves, but my father hushed me. My father said, ‘Men are to be feared, not wolves.’ Then the forests closed about us and there was no more light.’

‘Camillo.’

‘The sleigh ran all night. Once on a hilltop the trees broke, and we looked back and saw a vast red light on the horizon. My mother cried out. She said that they were burning our people. My father said the town itself was burning. Then the trees swallowed us again.’

‘And in the morning,’ said Rachaela, ‘the light came, and you hid your head and wept.’

Camillo grinned. ‘Good, good. I don’t have to finish it.’

‘Why did you tell me?’

‘You’re here.’

‘Who were they, the ones that died?’

‘Scarabae,’ said Camillo. ‘Always Scarabae.’

‘Superstition, which they themselves fostered, killed them.’

‘Twinkle, twinkle little star,’ said Camillo, ‘how I wonder what you are.’

‘You were afraid of the light because you’d been taught to be afraid of it,’ said Rachaela. ‘You believed you were vampires because someone told you that too.’

‘What is this creature,’ said Camillo, ‘a mouse? An elephant?’

‘How can I take Ruth away from them?’

‘Ruth,’ said Camillo, ‘that nasty child.’

Rachaela stared at Camillo.

‘You don’t like her.’

‘A viper in the bosom.’

‘Then help me get her away, Camillo. Tell me how?’

‘There’s no hope of it,’ said Camillo from the yellow box of bed. ‘She is their bud now. And you are grass cuttings, the bush that won’t flower. Go away.’

‘Camillo—’

‘One night,’ said Camillo, ‘the mob came. They shouted round the house...’

Rachaela saw the old face close again like a crab upon its story. She went to the door and he recited the words until she had gone out and shut the door behind her. Then there was silence in the room again.

Chapter Sixteen

When dinner was ended, and tea had been drunk, and Ruth put down her cup, and the words had been said: Shall I go up now? Yes... Rachaela too got up. ‘I’ll go with you, Ruth.’

Ruth stood still, docile from the years of casual obedience.

Anna said, ‘She knows the way, Rachaela.’

‘I’m sure she does. But I’d like to watch the piano lesson.’