“Don’t like to talk about Annie.” The woman looked down at the boy, who hadn’t taken his gaze away from Harry’s face. Abruptly, she cuffed him across the back of the head. “Go on! Go find something to do.”

The boy didn’t even blink, just walked past them and around the corner of the cottage. Maybe that was how his grandmother always spoke to him.

“What about Annie?” she asked.

“I’ve heard that she was involved with Lord Granville,” he started cautiously.

“Involved? Aye, that’s a pretty word for what it was.” The woman curled her lip to reveal dark gaps where her front teeth had been. Her pink tongue poked through. “Why do you want to know about that?”

“Someone’s killing sheep,” Harry said. “I’ve heard that Annie or perhaps someone close to her might have a reason for doing it.”

“I don’t know nothing about those sheep.” She started to close the door.

Harry stuck his boot in the crack. “Does Annie?”

She shook.

Harry thought at first that he might have driven her to tears, then she raised her head, and he saw her face was split by a grotesque smile.

“Maybe she does, does Annie,” she wheezed. “If they know about the doings of the living in the fires of hell.”

“Then she’s dead?” Lady Georgina spoke for the first time.

Her crisp accent seemed to sober the woman. “Either that or might as well be.” She leaned tiredly against the door. “Her name was Annie Baker, you know. She was married. At least she was until he came sniffing after her.”

“Lord Granville?” Lady Georgina murmured.

“Aye. The devil hisself.” The woman sucked in her upper lip. “Annie threw over Baker. She was Granville’s whore for as long as he wanted her, which wasn’t long. Came back here with her belly big and stayed just long enough to whelp. Then she took off again. Last I heard she was spreading her legs for a cup of gin.” She looked suddenly wistful. “A lass don’t last long as a gin slut, do she?”

“No,” Harry said quietly.

Lady Georgina looked stunned, and he was sorry he hadn’t been able to talk her into staying behind at Woldsly Manor. He’d dragged her into a cesspit.

“Thank you for telling us about Annie, Mrs. Pollard,” Harry spoke gently to the old woman. Despite her hardened manner, it must have pained her to talk about ancient hurts. “I’ve only one more question, and then we’ll bother you no more. Do you know what happened to Mr. Baker?”

“Oh, him.” Mrs. Pollard waved a hand as if flicking away a fly. “Baker took up with another lass. I’ve heard he even married her, though it can’t be right in the church, him already married to Annie. Not that Annie cares. Not anymore.” She closed the door.