‘Yes, I’d sort of gathered that.’ Nell leant back in her seat, looking around the room. Elder House was all very well, stylish, comfortable, but it was – cold. Unloved, perhaps. Not like Rowan Cottage, which for all its clutter was relaxed and inviting; a proper home. ‘She does seem very determined about the drying ground.’

‘Of course she does.’

‘She seemed to think it’s sort of – communal?’

‘It probably was, once. But the deeds I’ve seen for the house are quite clear. As of 1882, the drying ground at the back of Elder House belonged to Elder House.’

‘You’ve seen the deeds?’

Gina smiled. ‘I volunteer at the museum, for the Lit and Phil. It’s amazing the things we have on file, and in 1882 the house was bought by a Dr Bishop – hence Bishops Yard, it was actually Elder Yard before that. He was a very successful man, quite the local worthy, and he donated all of his collections and paperwork to the Society. She’s wrong, and we’ve got the proof in black and white.’ She sighed softly. ‘We’ve had this argument before, and I daresay we’ll have it again.’

‘But why? I mean, if it’s as clear cut as you say, why does she keep pressing her point?’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Gina smiled sadly. ‘She’s just one of those people who likes her own way, I suppose, and she cannot stand to lose an argument. Believe me, I should know.’

Nell thought of the gate, so new, so out of place.

‘How long have you lived here?’ she asked, carefully tucking the photos back into their wallet.

‘Getting on for thirty years, now. We did this place up ourselves. That is, my husband did. Jack.’ Gina pointed to a framed photo on the wall, a snapshot of a man in a checked shirt and jeans, a pair of glasses pushed up onto the top of his head. ‘It was his business, you see – doing up older buildings. But – you know, sympathetically.’ A boy, Maude’s age, perhaps, stood next to him, his expression a little sheepish. Gina smiled sadly. ‘It’s just me now.’

‘Oh. I’m sorry.’

‘Thank you, it’s been a few years now, and you get used to it after a while.’

‘Does your son live close by?’ Nell asked, it wasn’t unusual for people to move away in search of bigger, better opportunities, a more exciting life; she’d done it herself.

‘Oh, no.’ Gina looked almost apologetic. ‘Robin – he died too. Not at the same time, that would have been – no. It was . . .’ she hesitated, ‘a long time ago.’

‘I’m so sorry. I had no idea.’ Nell looked around the room, struggling to find the right thing to say, and to her horror she felt her throat tighten and tears threaten to rise; to lose a child – it must have been unbearable.