Cooper smiled. ‘Is that the official story, or the local tradition?’

‘Oh, the local tradition is different,’ said Casey. ‘As you might guess. The older residents will tell you that the statue is a memorial to the daughter of one of the Saxtons who owned Alder Hall. She was a young woman who either died at the hands of a jealous lover, or drowned in the river as she was eloping – depending on which version you choose to believe.’

‘Tradition loves a romantic tragedy.’

‘Yes. Well, either way, the legends agree on one thing – Flora attracts the spirits of the dead. Through her beauty and innocence, they’re drawn to wherever she is. So as long as Flora stands out here in the woods, the spirits of those dead Civil War soldiers won’t return to their bones.’

Cooper shivered a little, thinking of the cobwebbed skulls in their damp crypt.

‘Anyway, this part of the estate is owned by Alderhall Quarries now,’ said Casey. ‘They’ve worked the quarry just above the road there since the beginning of last century. Alderhall sandstone used to be highly valued for some purposes, but not any more. Still, the company allows Flora to receive visitors.’

‘She doesn’t get many, judging by the state of the footpath,’ said Cooper.

‘No, it isn’t exactly well used, is it?’

The grounds of Alder Hall had been sculpted into a panorama of gently sloping lawns. But beyond the parkland successive Saxtons had planted trees. Cooper could see trees and more trees, marshalled into plantations that Casey told him were named after major battles of their day – Corunna Wood, Ladysmith Piece, Sebastopol Carr. Their management had been neglected for years, and now the orderly rows were ragged round the edges, like frayed carpets.

Where the grass slopes had been left unmaintained, tides of bracken had encroached from the hillside. Jeremiah Saxton would be upset to see how far his property now failed to match the grandeur of the Duke’s estate further down the Wye Valley.

Cooper looked around for Fry. She’d taken a call on her mobile, and was standing a few yards away so she was out of earshot. Now she caught his eye and started making winding-up signals.

‘Someone has left flowers here,’ said Cooper. ‘Recently, too.’

John Casey looked at the spray of flowers in the grass at the foot of the statue. ‘Well, as I said, Flora does get visitors occasionally.’

‘Why would anyone leave flowers?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘They’re white chrysanthemums, too.’

‘Yes? Does that mean something?’

‘Ask any florist, Mr Casey. White chrysanthemums are for a death.’

‘Oh, really?’

‘There’s a card, too, inside the cellophane.’

Cooper brushed drops of rain off to read the message. Then he stood up as Fry strode across the clearing, putting her phone away.

‘Could you take us back to the hall please, sir?’ she said.

‘By all means,’ said Casey.