‘They’re for a doctor, actually,’ Julia said.

‘Is your father a doctor?’

‘And a mayor.’

‘The mayor,’ Victor added.

‘He sounds very important.’

‘He’s not home,’ Julia said.

‘I see, well—’

The door of the manor opened and a woman stepped quickly out. She was well-attired in a neat dark-green dress, with a heavy wrap of fur across her shoulders. It was only as she came to stand behind the children that I noticed they, too, were in fine clothes.

‘Can I help you, sir?’ the woman demanded in a none-too-friendly tone.

I bowed, removing my hat, and introduced myself as a king’s man from Esteberg. The change in the woman was instantaneous.

‘Ah, Inspector,’ she said. ‘How fortunate we are to meet so soon after your arrival.’

‘I saw him before he even got to the inn,’ Victor said.

‘Quiet now, the adults are talking.’ The woman’s voice was like a knife: the edge was never far away.

‘The honour is mine, Mrs Eder.’

She held out a gloved hand, which I took and mimed to kiss. Though I was no authority on high-society, I understood from my day-brother and his friends that a woman offering her hand in this manner was no longer fashionable in the capital.

‘I am afraid we are to leave for town. Perhaps we could arrange a more suitable time for your company?’

‘I would find that most agreeable,’ I said, a little surprised to find myself matching her formality.

‘Then we shall send an invitation in due course. Come now, children.’ She herded them into the house and closed the door without as much as a glance in my direction. I didn’t know quite what to make of her.

When I arrived at Mrs Harsson’s house, Father Popov was already there. It was he that opened the door and ushered me inside. The house was small, with exposed beams that were so low I had to stoop. The Father led me through to a sitting room where a woman, whom I took to be Mrs Harsson, knelt tending a fire. I had to stifle a cough as smoke hung like rainclouds under the beams.

The room was plainly but neatly furnished, with a sturdy rug at the centre and two rocking chairs on either side. Father Popov crossed to the window seat and, careful of the drawn curtains, sat in a very deliberate, attentive manner. I felt suddenly that I’d walked into an orchestrated moment, like someone walking into a theatre rehearsal. My initial reaction was one of refusal, a wish to break away from whatever scripted lines the two of them had decided upon. So I knelt beside Mrs Harsson and picked up one of the heavier logs.

‘Is it ready?’ I said.

She pursed her lips. Her eyes were hard, and experience was etched deeply across her face. That the Father had described her as frail was its own little mystery; she was short, solid, and quite broad across the shoulder. However, she did not move particularly easily as she stood and shuffled to one of the chairs. I placed the log on the fire and felt some small pleasure when it started to take. When I turned to the room both the Father and Mrs Harsson were looking at me.