Hobbes looked at Latimer, who was as puzzled as he was.

‘You’re saying that— Let me get this straight. You’re saying that Adeline doesn’t exist?’

‘That’s right. Our family created her. She’s a character in a play. A play set not on the stage, but in reality. In the reality of Bridlemere, our family home.’

Hobbes couldn’t quite grasp it.

Latimer said, ‘OK, I’m having trouble with this, I’ll freely admit it.’

‘Yes, it must be puzzling … to outsiders.’ Rosamund’s voice was icier than ever.

‘So could you explain it a little more clearly?’

‘I can try. Yes. Adeline was …’

But then Rosamund stopped talking. Hobbes watched her carefully.

Her eyes closed, the lids firmly pressed together.

Her hands twisted in her lap.

She might have been alone in the room, for all the attention she gave the others. And when her eyes opened again, Hobbes saw that the light had gone from them. The force of nature had left her body. She had given up.

It was the only way to describe it, as an act of surrender.

She looked at Hobbes and said matter-of-factly, ‘Our family has created itself. From a dream.’

He asked for explanation.

She answered: ‘We have created ourselves, and we can so easily do the opposite.’

It struck him as a warning, but one whose nature was still hidden. And again he asked for information. ‘What do you mean?’

When he received no answer, Latimer spoke sternly: ‘Mrs Kepple. If you’re withholding evidence that later leads to a conviction, you will be held responsible. I hope you understand me.’

Rosamund smiled. And then she stood up and walked over to the doorway.

‘Where are you going?’

‘There’s something I need to show you. I won’t be a minute.’

She left the room. Hobbes could hear her ascending the stairs. He turned to Latimer and asked, ‘What do you make of her?’

‘She’s nuts.’

‘Apart from that?’

‘Oh, God, I don’t know. Maybe the whole family is mad. Can that be possible?’

‘There have been cases, yes. Have you read R. D. Laing?’

‘No, I haven’t bloody well read R. D. Laing! When do I have time—’

‘He has some interesting theories …’

The sergeant grimaced. ‘That look on her face is a bit scary, isn’t it?’

‘But do you think she’s capable of killing her own brother?’

‘The mark of Cain?’ Latimer thought for a moment. ‘Maybe. She looks strong enough.’

Hobbes nodded. ‘Yes. And Nicholas was very frail.’

‘Actually, she reminds me of someone.’

‘You’re not going to say me, are you?’

‘A little bit.’

‘I’m not – there’s no way—’

‘Just here and there, that’s all. Now and then … a certain phrase.’

‘Jesus.’

‘Don’t worry, Guv.’ Latimer was smiling.

‘OK. Very funny.’

‘She’s taking her time, isn’t she?’

Hobbes stood up and walked out into the hallway, where he looked up the stairs. He called, ‘Mrs Kepple?’

He took the stairs at a pace, suddenly worried, and he couldn’t think why. At the landing he called her name again, more softly this time. He pushed open the nearest door and saw a bathroom. He walked along the landing to a bedroom door.