‘Do you know who owns it?’

Puckett shook his head. ‘Don’t think anyone does right now. Certainly no one has taken it over since old Abel Parrish got hisself transported to Australia. Why do you ask?’

‘I need somewhere to live and I need to keep myself and my mother, if I can get her away from the brute she married. We haven’t had a decent home since Creek Manor was sold, and now it’s no more.’

Puckett stood up and reached for the kettle. ‘I heard that some toff from London bought the place before someone put a torch to it. Maybe he’s going to build hisself a mansion to rival the old house.’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ Judy said carefully. ‘But I want to be independent. I don’t want to rely on any man.’

Puckett made the tea and replaced the kettle on the trivet. ‘Well, good luck to you, that’s all I can say. I tell you one thing, though. If you try to reopen the Crooked Billet, you’ll get a rough crowd of customers. It’s always been the sort of place that attracts wrong ’uns.’ He filled a cup with tea and handed it to Judy.

‘I’m not planning to encourage a smuggling ring. I don’t think they do that sort of thing these days.’

‘You’d be surprised.’ Puckett raised his cup in a toast. ‘Good luck to you, anyway, Miss Begg. You’ve got spirit, I’ll say that for you.’

Half an hour later Judy was back on the road, only this time she was retracing her steps and walking in the direction of the abandoned pub on the headland. It was still very early but the sun had risen and it was already warm, with the promise of a fine autumn day ahead. As she drew nearer to the building she could hear the creaking of the inn sign as it dangled from one rusty hook. The sound of the waves lapping on the foreshore mingled with the mournful cry of the seagulls as they soared overhead, adding to the desolate atmosphere of the deserted inn.

Judy was apprehensive, but determined. She approached the building nervously and she was tempted to retreat, but the thought of another night sleeping on the floor in the loft over the tack room was enough to make her continue her investigation. She tried the front door but, as she had suspected, it was locked, and she made her way round to the back of the building.

There was a stable and a store of some sort, plus a couple of sheds that might have had many uses. A pump sat rusting away in the middle of a yard where grass and moss had almost obscured the cobblestones. A little further away was a privy, which she examined briefly and then closed the door. It might not have been used for many years, but the smell lingered, and it was obvious that the last landlord had not been too particular when it came to cleanliness. She crossed the yard and tried the back door, but that, too, was locked, and most of the windows were closed, even though some of the panes had been broken.