‘I can drop her home, Reverend. It’s no problem.’

‘Give her a moment.’

‘Why?’ Muriel couldn’t keep the bewilderment from her tone.

Reverend Farnley’s face flushed. Muriel, her patience wearing thin, walked forwards and pushed the vestry door open. Little Eliza was sitting on the floor – on cushions taken from the wooden bench – clutching her doll, crying.

‘Oh, poor Eliza. Are you feeling poorly, love?’ Muriel crouched down beside her. Eliza nodded without looking up. ‘Come on, sweetie.’ Muriel held out her hand. ‘Let’s get you home. Maybe you need to go to bed and rest.’

As Muriel straightened, Eliza’s hand now in hers, she felt Reverend Farnley right behind her. She turned, banging into him.

‘Sorry,’ she said, backing up and moving around him to reach the door.

‘Muriel, wait a moment. I need a word with you.’ Reverend Farnley’s face was set in a solemn expression. ‘Alone. Eliza can wait for a bit longer.’

It hit Muriel then.

‘Has she told you something?’ A flash of hope that Eliza might have divulged what her father had been doing to her bolstered her. Muriel would finally have a way of getting rid of Billy Cawley from her village.

‘Not really, no. But I think it’s best if you don’t mention it to anyone.’

‘Mention what? That she’s sick?’

Reverend Farnley gave a deep sigh. ‘No, Muriel. That there is … well … suspicion, let’s say, that Billy is in some way … er … neglecting her.’

‘So, she did say something.’ Muriel pursed her lips, her face becoming stony. ‘Look, I’m sorry, Reverend, but you can’t keep that sort of thing to yourself. It’s important—’

‘It’s important we don’t rock the boat unnecessarily, Muriel. It wouldn’t look good that I was trying to coax her to tell me something now, would it? What if she goes back home and tells her father that I’d been asking questions?’

‘What if he really hurts her and you knew about him all along but had done nothing? How would it look if the person she confided in, who happened to be a vicar no less, stood aside and allowed such a thing to happen?’

‘Well, I’m asking you not to say anything for now, Muriel. There is no solid proof and the poor man has already had a rough ride since moving into Mapledon,’ Reverend Farnley said in a calm but firm tone, giving Muriel a look that left no room for interpretation; he might as well have said ‘because of you, Muriel’. ‘I don’t want to be the one to instigate a persecution, do you understand?’

Muriel nodded, thinking that from where she was standing, the Reverend seemed as afraid of Billy Cawley as the village kids were. She opened her mouth to say as much, but Reverend Farnley put his hand up to silence her.

‘You know how people talk, Muriel. You of all people know. As I say, I would rather Billy wasn’t put under scrutiny merely as a result of one conversation with a child – one who is clearly vulnerable. It could produce all kinds of problems. I shouldn’t have tried talking to her without a professional – a social worker, or at the very least a teacher. It was foolish of me and Lord knows I should’ve known better …’