They arrived at the track that led off to Greystone’s Farm. All the way along the muddy, stony ground Kerensa glanced nervously at Oliver. Her stomach was bound up and she had to keep remembering to breathe. How would she bear it if Clem was dead? It would be her fault, she should not have agreed to meet Clem alone. Bartholomew had made it known, rather nastily, looking back, that he knew she and Clem had been lovers.

In the course of a busy day on a farm few people would be about the yard, but labourers were loafing about grim-faced and there was a cluster of dairymaids and female servants, red-eyed from weeping. They watched the newcomers with wary interest. As was the custom throughout Cornwall in the event of a death, all the farmhouse’s curtains were drawn over.

Kerensa felt a bolt of terror course through her and an overwhelming sense of loss and failure. ‘Oh, no. It’s really happened!’

Oliver reached for her hand. ‘I’m so sorry, my dear.’

Luke chewed on his bottom lip. If he had told his father about Bartholomew’s character all this could have been avoided. They dismounted. Luke gathered in all the reins and passed them on to the farmhand who came forward.

The front door of the farmhouse was opened and Catherine appeared, in a black dress and black shawl. The black lace on her head made her skin glow an unnatural white. She held her head high, a picture of strained dignity.

Leaving Oliver’s side, Kerensa ran to her, her heart slashed in half, her tears unstoppable. ‘We had reason to believe something terrible might have happened here. I’m so sorry, Catherine. Please don’t be angry with me. I had to come.’

Catherine gazed at her coolly. For a moment she wanted to order Kerensa off her property. Then the charitable side of her understood her distress, and that she had assumed the victim was Clem. Of course, she would grieve for Clem. She had loved him for over twenty-four years. And how could Clem be expected not to love her still? This woman, as youthful-looking as a girl, beautiful and perfect in every way.

‘It wasn’t Clem. He’s hurt but the doctor’s attended to him. Philip was killed trying to save his life from Sir Oliver’s nephew. Bartholomew Drannock is also dead, drowned in a bog.’

‘Oh, my God!’ Kerensa cried out. Her relief that Clem was alive was replaced by a different sorrow, she knew how grief-stricken he would be at losing one of his children. Bartholomew’s death meant nothing to her. ‘I’m so sorry. Where is – I mean – can I…?’

‘Can you see Clem?’ Catherine finished for her quietly. She looked at Sir Oliver.