‘What a beautiful nativity,’ Marta said, crouching down to look at the arrangement which stood just inside the door. ‘Come and look at these. They’re works of art, every one of them.’

The figures were about eighteen inches high, and Josephine touched the nearest – one of the three kings – to see what it was made from. The wood had been skilfully carved, as Marta said, and Josephine marvelled at how naturally the folds in his cloak fell and how convincing the artist had made the texture of the fur. ‘They’ve obviously been in the wars over the years,’ she said, noticing the scuffs and imperfections in the wood that only added to the figures’ authenticity. The scene was lit from behind, and the gilt paint on the wise man’s crown and his gift to the newborn baby shone with a dazzling radiance, but it was the facial expressions that 160distinguished this from most nativities, the emotion that hovered between joy and reverence and incredulity. ‘It’s all so natural,’ she said, standing up. ‘Mary actually looks like a real woman for once.’

They rejoined Archie, who had been talking to an elderly couple near the back of the church. ‘Which side is the hermit cell?’ Josephine whispered, as the three of them weighed up where to sit.

‘It’s on the right,’ Archie said. ‘We used to play in it all the time as kids. I’ll show it to you when the service is over.’

‘If it ever starts. There’s still no sign of the vicar.’

‘That’s the best sort of church service, if you ask me,’ Marta said with feeling. ‘A few nice carols, then home for lunch.’

Marta had her own issues with the church, and Josephine didn’t argue. They sat in the pews that Archie had indicated, and she turned round to look for the entrance to the underground chamber. All she could see were some steps leading down into shadow from a half-open door, but it was enough to make her shudder at the thought of being enclosed in such a confined space.

‘Why on earth would anyone choose to live out their days shut up in a place like that?’ Marta asked, echoing Josephine’s thoughts. ‘How can that possibly be holy? Selfish, I call it.’

‘That’s if he did choose to be there. We’ve no way of knowing now if he was down there because of fair means or foul. And if it was his choice, what was he running away from? I suppose people have all sorts of reasons for retreating from the world.’

‘I suppose so.’ She looked doubtfully again at the mysterious door. ‘I don’t mind going down there to have a look with you, but don’t ask me to go anywhere near that chair they were 161talking about last night. If you want a sightseeing trip of that, you’re on your own. You can boss me around for the next fifty years and I won’t say a word.’

‘That’ll be the day.’