“How horrible,” Lizzie said. “And the other ones?”

“Well, there was Amethyst Green,” Avery said. “That was the case that first caught my attention because it happened at Oakhangar when I was a child. She was the scullery maid; she fell from the roof of the Hall. My family spun the story to look like a sad tale of a servant who had got herself into trouble and committed suicide in a fit of despair, but even as a child I guessed it was probably a lot more complicated than that. There were hints of a love triangle with two of my uncles.” She pulled a face. “It’s impossible to be sure what really happened, though, when the testimony at the time was heavily influenced by what people were paid—or persuaded—to say.”

“I’m so sorry,” Lizzie said fiercely. “The injustice of it is awful, Amy and all the others whose voices weren’t heard because the rich and powerful were able to silence them.”

“They even tried to silence Amy’s ghost,” Avery agreed. “There are stories of her haunting Cumnor and other places. Have you read the tale of the clergymen from Oxford who tried to confine her spirit to the Citrine Pool?”

“No.” Lizzie shuddered. She drew her tablet towards her. “I must read about that.”

“It feels as though it is time to end Amy’s unhappiness,” Avery said. She put her hand over Lizzie’s. “I rely on you, Elizabeth. I have great hopes. You could have turned your back on Johnny Robsart and refused to help him but you did not. That was the first change to the pattern. Now it is up to you to break it completely and prevent this tragedy repeating again.”

Lizzie stared at her. “Do you really believe that?”

Avery nodded. “It’s been hard,” she said, almost to herself, “to be no more than a witness all these years, hoping and praying that somehow, someone would be brave enough to break the curse.”

“I don’t know how to do it,” Lizzie confessed. “I feel completely out of my depth.”

Suddenly Avery looked tired, Lizzie thought, older and frailer. Her energy and exuberance so often eclipsed the fact that she was very elderly indeed. Lizzie felt a pang of fear; she had only just found Avery again and she didn’t want to lose her.

“We all feel that at times,” Avery said quietly. “The only advice I can give you, Elizabeth, is to remember that truth is so often a matter of perception. It is very easy to be misdirected, especially if we want to be. I cannot tell you what will happen; there are always different futures. I can only hope you will choose the right one.”

Avery picked up her gardening gloves. Lizzie handed her the secateurs and saw that her gaze was bright again, that sharp, blue glance that had seen so much and knew so much.

“You should never be afraid of your gift, Elizabeth,” Avery said gently. “You are strong. You always have been. When the time comes, you must use it to the full.” She kissed Lizzie’s cheek and wandered away down the steps towards the gap in the Leylandii hedge, leaving Lizzie wondering exactly what gifts Avery possessed herself.