“We’re not lost.” Milly was squeezing my arm so tightly, that I felt sure we were lost. I tried to break free.

She put her hand on my arm. “I’m not letting you go. You hit your head. You scared me.”

“I scared myself.” And then I smelled smoke. I stopped and sniffed. “Follow the smoke.”

“I suppose you were a girl scout, Mrs. Shackleton.”

“You suppose right, and this could be a trap.”

“Oh no, Alec likes you. You took his photograph. You were nice to him.”

Mrs. Farrar was nice to people, but someone killed her.

The old soldier was sitting on a little stool made from a log. His fire and his black pot looked like an illustration from a storybook about gypsies.

He stopped stirring the pot. “Hey up, what’s all this?”

I felt too tired to explain, not that I could have explained. On the third day, guests smell stale. This was the fifth day. Was it? The fourth, the sixth, I no longer knew.

It was a relief to me to see that Milly had my brief case. My brief case, my talisman. There was something in there that would be useful. I tried to remember what.

The old soldier handed me a tin cup. “Mind, it’s hot.”

“Do you good,” Milly said.

I took a drink, set the cup down and closed my eyes, seeing no one, feeling so alone.

It was the pong that told me he was there. “Best not shut your eyes if you’ve taken a bump.”

“I’m a nurse. I know that.”

“Then open yer flippin’ peepers.”

I felt sick again. “Milly, there’s brandy in my bag. Pass it round. I think we all need a drop.”

The old soldier grunted. “Not me. I’ve tekken the pledge.”

“Me as well,” Milly said. “What with Stephen playing in the Temperance Band. Not that alcohol has ever passed my lips.”

“Good lass,” the old man said.

I took the battered silver flask that had been my husband’s. Just for a moment, I forgot he was gone from the world. I pictured myself telling him how after a brush with death, I found myself in a darkening wood with judgemental teetotallers. I imagined his smile, and somehow felt better as I took a drink.

I introduced myself to the old soldier. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Herbert Wesley, and you’re safe here.”

“How do I get out of this wood, avoiding the road?”

“That depends on where you want to go.”

“I’d like to be in Wakefield, as quickly as possible. My car crashed.”

“Alec thinks someone tinkered with the steering linkages,” Milly said obligingly.

Herbert Wesley gulped. “That puts a different slant on the show.”

Part of me must have known. Even in my slightly concussed state, I had felt a sense of danger.

Herbert Wesley picked up a shotgun.