For a span of seconds the moon came free of clouds and he saw the hill’s character, saw moonlight on the yardarm bough of a big tree he thought he recognised. The rain was easing. He shook the drops from his hat, went on descending (long enough to begin to doubt this could be the hill he had believed it was), then, stretching out with his hand, he grazed a stone pillar that marked the edge of an open gateway. He led the horses through on to the drive—or not a drive but a courtyard, small stones underfoot, and beyond it the blackness and slate-shine of a large, square house. He left the horses and went up the three low steps to the front door. He felt around for a knocker or bell-pull, found none and beat against the door with the sodden leather of his gloved palm. Almost immediately, a dog began to bark. Another dog, down in the village, answered it. He waited. A voice, a woman’s, called the dog to silence. When the dog was hushed she said, “Who is it? What do you want here?”

He told her, and told her his business. He was still not certain he had come to the right place, that this was the address he carried tucked inside his glove.

“Wait,” she said, her voice made a little strange by the door between them. When she returned she had a light that he saw as a bloom of yellow through the narrow window at the side of the door. He stood back to show himself. The light shifted, bolts were drawn and the door, swollen from the rain perhaps—raining off and on for days—opened with a scraping sound. The woman stood there holding up her lamp. Not young, not old. She had a blanket around her shoulders and was holding the edges with her free hand against her chest.

“Where is he?” she asked, looking either side of the postilion.

“He’s in the cab.”

“Why does he not come?”

“He will need to be lifted. He was lifted in.”

She took this in for a moment, then said, “There is only me here.”

“I can manage him,” he said. “I believe I can.”

He turned from her and walked to the cab. He tapped for politeness’ sake on the sliding window, then opened the door, got on to the step and leaned inside. It did not smell good in there, nor was it obvious at first that the man was still breathing.

“I’ll be gentle as I can,” he said. He pulled the man forward, just enough to slide an arm around his back. His other arm went under the man’s knees. With a grunt he lifted him, stepped down backwards on to the courtyard stones and carried him quickly into the house. The woman shut the door. “Sweet heaven,” she said. “Can you bring him up the stairs?”