‘What about Nicholas? Did you or Rosamund murder him, for his part in Adeline’s death?’

‘No. I’ve told you, we bore him no ill.’

‘Death at the hands of a stranger? You’re still insisting on that?’

‘It seems most likely.’

‘And the body of Adeline? Can you tell us where it is, Camilla?’

‘I can. I will show you.’

Hobbes studied her. He saw in her eyes the pain of those long-off days; and he saw in her face the scourge of guilt; and he heard from her mouth a whispered prayer for the dead, or the lines from a play, which amounted to the same thing.

Here we lay to rest the body of Adeline Graves.

Our beloved sister, our child …

And she spoke on further, and quieter still, the words belonging to herself alone.

The Gathering

It was getting dark. Time had passed in ways they could not comprehend. Dusk. Cold air. A cloudy sky, the moon hidden. The two officers stood close together on the steps that led to the car park, Hobbes staring ahead in silence. A police car exited through the gate, its engine making a rough coughing sound as it drove away.

Latimer waited until she’d smoked her cigarette right down before she spoke. ‘Hell of a story.’

‘Yes.’

‘You believe her?’

‘I’m not sure. Some of it.’

‘We’ll know tomorrow.’

‘Perhaps. I hope so.’

Now she turned to look at him. ‘You really think it’ll be an empty grave?’

‘Or another bloody dress.’

‘Christ. I hadn’t thought of that.’ She blinked through the smoke. ‘There is one thing, though.’

‘I hope it’s good.’

‘Not really. Just the thought that blaming Nicholas is the easy way out. The dead man.’

‘That crossed my mind. I wonder if Rosamund would confirm this story, if we could persuade her to talk.’

Latimer considered the possibilities. ‘Maybe. Unless they have a story already written out, a script they all agreed to follow – like one of their father’s plays.’

Hobbes nodded. ‘I wouldn’t put it past them.’

‘And we have only Camilla’s word for the whole thing. Any member of that family might have lent a hand in ending the girl’s life. It feels like they’re all capable of it.’

Hobbes thought about this. ‘Well, it makes sense, in a way. I got the impression from our brief chats with Nicholas that he felt guilty. And he did give us permission to dig up the cellar.’

‘You think he wanted to confess?’

‘Maybe. And the opening of the cellar floor …’

‘An old wound exposed.’

‘With people like him – nervous types – it’s always one wound at a time, never the full story all at once.’

‘The same with Rosamund, I guess. With the scissors to her stomach.’

‘The whole family knew what had happened with Adeline. And they were all plagued by it, in their own way.’

‘The poor kid.’

‘You’re right there.’ Hobbes shrugged. ‘You heading home?’

‘I’ll take Tommy out for a drink, maybe.’