Even with the lights on, it was impossible to estimate how many skulls there were. The long shelves were packed two deep, and shadows in the niches made it difficult to see right to the back. A hundred? Two hundred? Cooper wouldn’t have liked to make a guess.

‘Where did they all come from?’ asked Fry. ‘Are these all ancestors of the Saxton family?’

‘Good heavens, no,’ said Casey. ‘The Saxtons themselves are either buried under the nave of the village church, or in a rather elaborate family tomb in the churchyard. I believe there are several quite fine effigies in the church, if you’re interested in such things.’

Fry pointed at the rows of skulls. ‘So who are they?’

‘The story is that they were Royalist soldiers, ambushed and killed by Parliamentary militia on their way to help raise the siege of Wingfield Manor.’

‘The Civil War?’ said Cooper, bending to look closer at the skulls. ‘Seventeenth century, then.’

‘That’s right.’

‘But that’s before the hall was built, let alone the chapel.’

‘The remains weren’t found right here, but somewhere on the estate when forestry work was being carried out. As I said, there was an earlier house on this site, and the Saxtons are known to have been Royalist sympathizers, so perhaps the soldiers were billeted here. Certainly, the original house was severely damaged by the Parliamentarians and had to be demolished. A punishment for supporting the wrong side, I suppose.’

Cooper had never heard this story, though there were many others like it in Derbyshire, where the English Civil War had split local sympathies. At Chapel-en-le-Frith, the church had become known as ‘Derbyshire’s Black Hole’ after it was used to imprison fifteen hundred Scottish troops captured at the Battle of Ribbleton Moor. The Parliamentary army had left them crammed in the church for two weeks and forty-four of them were dead when the doors were opened.

‘Has anyone ever had the bones authenticated? I mean, to confirm that they actually are from the Civil War period?’

‘I’m told it was done some years ago,’ said Casey. ‘But the findings were never made public.’

‘So there must be a record of how many skulls and bones are in the collection?’

‘Yes, of course. But again …’

‘It hasn’t been made public. I see.’

Cooper found a torch in his pocket and shone it into the dusty corners. Large black spiders scuttled away from the light. Their webs stretched from skull to skull and filled the eye sockets like pale cataracts. Powdered stone from the walls coated the shelves. In the curious silence typical of cellars, he thought he heard a faint scuttling movement. But it was only Fry, edging back towards the steps, restless to move on.