She went in slowly, prepared almost for anything. But the room was as she recalled it from her last visit, and brightly lit by candles standing in holders on the chests.

Ruth sat in the rocking-chair, and behind her was the black-night window, reflecting candles.

Ruth had a distorted clown’s face, and one of the brown bottles in her lap.

‘I told you not to drink that,’ said Rachaela, alarmed.

Ruth stared at her.

‘Did they let you come?’

‘No, Ruth. I got a key. How much have you drunk?’

‘Only a little. It tastes foul.’

‘Good.’ Rachaela shut the door. ‘I’m taking you away tonight.’

Ruth nodded. She stood up.

She wore the 1910 dress, but she could walk in it, and everyone wore anything nowadays, particularly the young. The wounded face might draw some comment.

‘I’m sorry, you’ll have to leave your things behind.’

‘That’s all right,’ said Ruth carelessly. ‘I don’t want anything.’

‘I don’t want you to go to your bedroom. If there’s anything light up here, I can carry it.’

‘Nothing,’ said Ruth.

‘We’ll have to walk across the heath. It’s a long walk I know, but it’s the only way.’

Ruth looked sulky for a moment. Then she said, ‘I don’t mind.’

‘It should be easy to get a car from the village now, once the shops open.’ Ruth took another drink out of the brown bottle. ‘No, Ruth.’

‘It’s only wine.’

‘Don’t drink it. I want to take you down now to my room. Be very quiet. If we meet any of them, hide, if there’s time. If not, well, we’ll see. I don’t think it will happen.’

Rachaela remembered her own night of going, and how they had all of them gathered in the hall, but given before her, followed her, without protest, knowing. Would they give up Ruth the criminal so strengthlessly? Yes. Why else the key, the vast silence of the house? They wanted to be rid of Ruth, whatever they might have done or said.

Rachaela moved out of the attic and Ruth came after her. Rachaela locked the door again, when they were on the outside.

They descended the stair, went through the annexe and came out into the corridor. Nothing else moved. The Scarabae had cleared the ways.

They negotiated the corridor, came along the landing, went into the other passage, to Rachaela’s door.

The house might have been vacant.

Ruth looked round at the blue-and-green bedchamber.

‘It’s nice. What’s the window of?’

‘The temptation of Eve.’

On the bed, packed, sat Rachaela’s bag. Her boots stood by the hearth, for walking.

Ruth still wore her shoes from school. That was a blessing.

Ruth said, ‘It will be nice to go home.’