‘Go on,’ Oliver ordered, but in a subdued voice. ‘I want to hear everything you know.’

‘Well, he had… a strong dislike for you.’

‘That wouldn’t have mattered,’ Oliver said miserably, then laughed ironically. ‘I didn’t like him. But given the chance to get to know one another better over the years, who knows what may have happened. Now the man is dead and there will never, never be the opportunity.’

The Reverend Ivey was a deeply worried man. ‘Oliver, what will you do now, regarding Jenifer, Bartholomew and the children? I strongly advise caution.’

‘I don’t know, I’ll have to think… I’d thought originally that if I found out that the Drannocks were my kin today I would think about what to do while I was away, then talk to Kerensa about it. Now I know they’re so closely related I don’t know what to do. I won’t be hurrying down the hill and knocking on their cottage door if that’s what concerns you.’

‘Good… good. I can see it will take time for you to come to terms with all this, Oliver. If you need to talk…’

‘Yes, of course. Thank you, Joseph. I’m sorry I shouted at you, insulted you.’

‘I understand,’ the Reverend said, ‘and it’s better that it was me. It’s what I’m here for.’

They lapsed into another heavy silence and eventually Mrs Tregonning tapped on the door and hesitantly entered the room. ‘Forgive me for asking,’ she said nervously, ‘but is everything all right? I mean, nothing awful’s happened, has it?’

‘Everything is fine, Mrs Tregonning,’ the Reverend reassured her.

She didn’t seem the least bit convinced as she looked from one strained male face to the other. ‘Shall I bring in some tea, then?’

The Reverend looked enquiringly at Oliver who shook his head.

‘I must go,’ Oliver said. ‘I was going straight from here to attend to business at Penzance, from there on to Launceston and finally up to London for the coronation, but I think I’ll go home first. I need to see Kerensa.’

The Reverend paled and wished he had an angel at hand to carry a swift warning to the manor. ‘Please, come and see me when you’ve completed your business and we’ll talk this over again.’

When Oliver had left, insisting on seeing himself out, the Reverend turned to Mrs Tregonning who was wringing her plump hands in her huge apron. ‘Could you get me a cloth please, Mrs Tregonning,’ he said, a shake still in his voice. He moved the wet papers, pulled out his pocket handkerchief and dabbed at the wet smears left on the ancient scratched desk top. He did not look at his housekeeper. ‘I seem to have knocked over my glass of water.’