‘If you’re ready, we’d best be off.’

‘Then let’s be on our way.’

Hooper had borrowed a horse and trap from a friend of his so that they could drive out to Mellanby Hall. It was only when he climbed up into the vehicle that Peter realised just how little he knew about the family he was setting off to visit. Hooper had spoken in glowing terms about his hero but said little about his wife and children. On the journey there, Peter gathered more information about Mellanby’s two sons, one of whom, Edmund, was married and lived some distance away from the family home. There was also a daughter who lived with her husband near Ravenshead.

‘What of Sir Roger’s wife?’ asked Peter.

‘Lady Mellanby is not in the best of health,’ explained Hooper, ‘so we may not even be able to speak to her. The news will have been a big blow to her. David, the younger son, will be there and so will Mr Oxley, I daresay.’

‘Who is Mr Oxley?’

‘He’s a lawyer and Sir Roger’s best friend. He were his agent during any election and looked after his affairs whenever Sir Roger was away for any length of time. Mr Oxley is almost like one of the family. When the news of … what happened in London reached Mellanby Hall yesterday, Mr Oxley would have been summoned immediately.’

‘What manner of man is he?’

There was a moment’s hesitation before the answer came.

‘Oh, he’s very … able.’

‘I hear a note of reservation in your voice,’ said Peter.

‘No, no,’ said Hooper, quickly, ‘I’ve no criticism to make of Mr Oxley. He’s loyal and hard-working. His job is – or was, anyway – to take the load off Sir Roger and he did that very well.’

He went on to list the man’s attributes, but Peter was not fooled. He sensed that Hooper didn’t like or trust Oxley. He wondered why.

Mellanby Hall was less than five miles from Nottingham. Set in a large estate, it played tricks on them, peeping out from behind bushes like a naughty child then disappearing briefly before coming fleetingly into view elsewhere. The endless glimpses were more than enough to whet Peter’s appetite. When the house finally rose up before them, he was struck by its size and solidity. Built two centuries earlier, it was rigidly symmetrical, its four corner towers flanking three recessed and gabled bays. Its facade of grey stone was rather forbidding. Peter could see that Hooper was approaching the place with some trepidation. The latter turned to him.

‘You’ll not forget your promise, Mr Skillen, will you?’

‘Of course not,’ replied Peter. ‘I’ll do the talking.’

‘Truth is … I’ve not ever been able to speak proper to Mr Oxley.’

‘Why is that?’

‘I don’t know.’