He hoped she would remain asleep for many, many hours. If only she didn’t have to awaken to the sight of the garden’s custodian lying broken and dying across her Anderson shelter. If only she could sleep for ever.

He stared back out of the window, wishing that the stalwart Matt and the knowledgeable Sam were beside him. This brave copper was terrified, and it had nothing to do with the weather.

* * *

At the height of the storm, two men dressed in wet-weather gear made their way along the boggy and perilous marshland path. They stopped outside Little Anchor, and with a nod, one of them slipped into the back garden. He returned a few minutes later and gave his accomplice a thumbs-up sign. All was well. No disasters.

‘A slate or two has shifted at the front,’ he whispered, ‘but no structural damage at all.’

‘Good, then let’s get away from here. The wind is dropping but the ground is treacherous. Just watch your footing. I don’t want to be dragging you out of a bloody bog.’

With one last look at the deserted cottage, they slipped away into the night.

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY

In Cannon Farm, the phone was ringing.

Matt heard the anxious voice of Emilia Swain. ‘I know you won’t have had a chance to check yet but I’m so worried, Mr Ballard. I didn’t sleep a wink last night.’

‘Don’t you fret, Emilia. Actually, I went down there an hour ago, and apart from a couple of tiles that have lifted, there’s no damage that I can see,’ Matt said.

‘Ah, such a relief! It is such an exposed spot, but at least there are no tall trees near the house.’

‘I’ll take a closer look later this morning, but I’m sure your cottage is fine. They knew how to build in those days.’

‘I’m sure you’re right. It isn’t the first gale to hit Whisper Fen, and it certainly won’t be the last.’ She paused. ‘There were no other, er, other problems, then?’

‘Nothing, Emilia. Not recently. So, apart from a sleepless night, how are you keeping?’

‘Oh, you know. It’s difficult to settle, even though I am enjoying Lena’s company. Part of me wants to get home, and another part never wants to set foot on the marsh again.’

‘If I were you, I’d stay with your friend for a bit longer. Let the police catch the person who’s been persecuting you, then come home and see how you feel about things. They will get them, you know.’

‘Well, Matt, you have more faith than me. They seem to come and go like the will-o’-the-wisp, sliding in like a strand of marsh mist, committing their atrocities and vanishing as if they never existed.’