‘We can’t, Joss. People know who I am. They’ll report me to Tabitha Ibbotson and Gladwin.’

‘Don’t be so wet. Come on.’ Jocelyn was already trotting around the long side of the building, searching for an entry point. Thea was transported back thirty years or more, when her younger sister would fearlessly lead them into one pickle after another. Even in their respectable Wiltshire home, there was more than enough scope for trouble, if you looked hard enough. She had little choice but to follow, while muttering darkly to herself.

‘People always say I’m nosy, but I’m nothing compared to you. And you’re always the one who falls over or disturbs the guard dog, leaving me to take the blame.’

‘Can’t hear you,’ her sister sang out, over her shoulder.197

‘Keep quiet, can’t you? Somebody’s liable to come out and shoot us.’ It felt all too horribly likely, just at that moment.

But Jocelyn had forged ahead, and was rounding the furthest corner, pushing through a half-closed gate in the process. Thea looked all around fearfully. They could be seen from several upstairs windows, if anyone had troubled to look. They were definitely trespassing, once through the gate. ‘Listen, Joss, will you? Come back.’ Memories of other finds in other barns were filling her head, and she began to feel sick. ‘Let’s just leave it all alone, okay?’

‘Stop fussing. Come and see what I’ve found.’

There was nothing in the voice to suggest another murder victim, or even a pile of illegal tiger skins. That, Thea realised, had been one of the things she had half-expected to discover. Or perhaps a cage filled with desperate immigrants – probably Chinese adolescents shipped over in a metal box. ‘What, then? What is it?’ From Jocelyn’s tone, she was entertaining images of a litter of kittens.

At first there was nothing to see. The interior was very dark, accessed through an open section that was only partly blocked by nettles. Jocelyn was standing a few feet away, gazing raptly at an arrangement that looked very like a church altar. But Thea’s eyes were still struggling to adjust to the gloom. How Jocelyn’s sight could have adjusted so quickly was a mystery. ‘I can hardly see anything,’ Thea complained.

‘You’ll be fine in a minute. It’s really not all that 198dark in here. Move right in, and you’ll see better.’

‘We shouldn’t be here.’

‘No, but look. Isn’t this amazing!’

Thea’s focus rapidly discerned an area of the barn that was much cleaner than the rest. Halfway along one wall stood a table with a bright white cloth and two tall candlesticks on it. Her instinct for history immediately suggested a forbidden religious sect, practising its rituals in secret. Something from a long-past century where people passionately cared about such things, even in rural Gloucestershire.

‘What is it?’ she said.

Jocelyn had approached the table with no hint of reverence. She reached out to an object placed between the candles. ‘Is this what I think it is?’ she said.