‘Correctly deduced, Inspector.’

As if on cue Julia entered stage left, striding towards the house.

‘I might not agree with her caution, but I must insist you turn your back. She will only make trouble,’ the boy said. He sounded genuinely embarrassed by the situation. But once again my night-brother obliged these children.

Christophor remained turned towards the expanse of dense forest for some minutes. In such a place, in such darkness, he knew only too well that the mind could play all kinds of tricks. My night-brother, a King’s Special Inspector, a man who brought justice and liberty from tyranny in his wake, began counting the leaves of the nearest branch.

At thirty-four he was relieved of the task by Julia herself. The three of them stood by the marked tree. Victor had a notebook and pencil in his hands. What was on the page was difficult to make out, but it had the appearance of a linear organiser of sorts.

The children settled into their watch with more discipline and patience than any soldier we’d met.

‘The apotropaic is at one of the doors,’ Christophor said.

‘Correct,’ Victor said tersely. Evidently, experiments were not for idle chitter chatter.

‘And the smithy is making you more?’

‘After our initial findings, we intend to increase the scale of our investigation.’

He chose his next words carefully. ‘This is not an experiment for gathering information on passers-by, is it?’

Moments passed. He wondered if they hadn’t heard him.

‘No,’ Julia said, eventually.

‘Tell me, Julia, how long have you suspected someone in your own home?’

She looked him in the eye. ‘Ever since they began bedding our father.’

*

As it was before, so it was again. Christophor examined what was given to him, this time by the blunt and unflinching delivery of a child, and found it able to reinforce an existing idea. He did not press Julia for more. He might claim decorum and decency would not allow it – but I’d known him to countenance worse when a case required as much. Instead, he took his own meaning from the girl’s words: that Rebecca was bedding Mr Eder during daylight hours, just as her night-sister did under the moon. It was the simplest, easiest conclusion to reach, and it was all the more wrong for all that. But he already had a low opinion of Rebecca, a woman he saw growing in my affections.

He left the children to their vigil and returned to the inn.

‘See?’ Christophor said into the mirror, as he chewed ettiene. ‘See what kind of vile woman you carry on with?’ He said it thrice over to be sure of my hearing.

But I had other ideas just who was bedding Julia’s father.

29th October 1721

I had arranged to meet Rebecca for luncheon at one of the more reputable establishments in Drekenford, called simply The Orangery. I assumed our coming together the day previous hadn’t altered our plans, nor altered too much else between us. But I did find myself wondering about the whole afternoon; especially how she had been so clear in what she wanted, and how much that had taken me by surprise. Not that I wasn’t willing. I chased these thoughts round and round, until eventually I had to occupy myself with something else.