Redfyre looked down at the thoughtful face, which, though concerned, had a thread of excitement in the widening eyes. Her delicately pointed chin was raised in question, her mouth rather redder than it should naturally have been, and he guessed at a little lip rouge daringly applied. Today’s dress was blue linen with a white collar. What had Hetty told him was the country name for heartsease? “Jump-up-and-kiss-me.” Well, the children of Grantchester were to be commended on their poetic insight, he thought. A moment’s glance at that face and any man would have gone weak at the knees and breathed those very words.

But Rosa wasn’t offering an invitation to dalliance. As he stared and buckled, she was taking charge of the situation. Was this what Theseus had felt as the bossy Medea handed him the end of a ball of thread, a sword and a pep talk? The labyrinth is that way, and the minotaur you’re looking for is at the end of it, chewing on the bones of his last victim. Good luck! You’ll find me here when you emerge.

“Are you listening?” she asked suspiciously. “I was saying—why not do this the proper way and enter by the front door? My father’s the master, after all. I’m inviting you as my guest to join us for tea at five o’clock. Present yourself at the entrance and address the porter. Give me a few minutes’ start to alert him. Off you go. I’ll lock up here.”

Taking his time, Redfyre strolled out through the churchyard and onto Trumpington Street and down to the entrance to St. Jude’s. His long strides were carrying him too fast towards his destination, he reckoned. “A few minutes,” she’d said. Why hadn’t he asked for more specific timing? He decided to waste some time dallying in the rose borders that lined the cobbled path down to the front door. Well worth anyone’s attention, they were well tended, thriving in their sunny position and already budding. Thanks to his aunt Hetty’s enthusiasm for the flower—a delight that she spread to anyone within earshot in the summer months—he managed to identify several of the species. He found one, a dark red beauty, at that moment of perfection when the bud was bursting into a rounded flower head. He plucked it and threaded it into his buttonhole.