“Ask your questions now, if you like,” he said diffidently. “I owe you an explanation. Several explanations. And I have something to tell you, and something to ask you. There’s no hurry. We have the rest of the day.”

This worried me. So my first question was, sun goes down—ride—home?

“That’s of no concern,” he said, frowning a little. “I said we would make sure you got back safely, and we will. You can trust us on that, at least.”

I mimed exasperation. He was skilled at framing answers that were no answers. I showed him, you—wedding—today?

“By now,” he said, glancing up at the sun high in the sky, “Elaine and her father will be on their way home. There will be no celebration at Harrowfield.”

I conveyed to him that I thought this answer quite inadequate.

“They will waste no time in questions,” he said carefully. “Elaine was to break the news to Richard this morning, and to my mother. She will not wish to stay any longer than she must. Yes, Jenny, she knew. I am not quite so heartless as you would believe me.”

Elaine—sad, angry?

He gave a grim little smile. “No. Disappointed and inconvenienced, maybe. But it was never me she wanted. Elaine will do well enough. Her father, now that’s another matter.”

He still had not answered the real question, the only one that was important. Why? There was no clear gesture for this, but I did not really need one; the question must have been written in my eyes.

“I—I will explain, in time. There are reasons. It’s complicated. I—”

You will have to do better than that.

“Why this day? Why not tell them, and be done with it? Will you believe me if I say, because I wished to bring you here, and show you this place, and see you run on the sand? Because I could do this only if I kept this day secret from all but those whom I trust with my life?”

I shook my head.

“Nonetheless, that is a good part of the reason, Jenny. Since—since the day John died, I—no, I don’t have the right words for this.”

I mimed, take your time. I’m listening.

“You have suffered, since that day. I am not blind to it, I—you must understand, on that day, when it happened, when we first came there, I thought—I thought you both—and then, I found I could not—I’m sorry, this is—I have no skill with words, and I can only hope you understand me. I have been unfair to you. I did not protect you as I should. What happened, it was not your fault. Each of us blamed himself. If only I had done this, or had not done that—but it was the fault, only, of him who ordered it done. He was clever, there was no proof. But I think, now, he has set a trap for himself that can be sprung. Only—” he fell silent again.

I waited.