‘Oh, it was. Stru’s grandpa, a wonderfully eccentric old man, lived with them. He’d inherited the house from his older brother and sister when they died or emigrated or something. He had been brought up by an aunt, I think. His bedroom was downstairs, where Stru’s study is now. Stru and I used to love going in there, listening to his stories and tales.’ Mark chuckled then drew back as the waitress brought the tray of drinks.

‘I remember one day Stru and I had been digging in the garden and come across some foundations so we went to ask Grandpa Archie what it was. He said that it was already gone when he was growing up but he’d been told about the summer house by his older siblings. It hadn’t been that big but it had been a thing of beauty, post-Palladian style. God knows what possessed them to demolish it. Why get rid of a fine summer house? But then I think beautiful buildings, whatever their size should…’

‘Fiona, sweetheart, the Morrisons are going, come and say bye!’

She turned to see her mother beckoning her over to the door.

‘Sorry, Mark, got to go. Let me know if you remember anything else?’

He nodded, wrapped both hands round his tumbler, gazing into the whisky as if for clues.

* * *

Fiona slammed the car door shut and watched Jamie run ahead to the house, the key swinging from his hand.

‘How did you think it went, Fi?’

‘Okay, I suppose. But I don’t know why you keep asking that, Mum. And why d’you need to know how many folk were there?’

‘Well, it seemed to me like hundreds, so I asked the funeral director and he said about three hundred. Not bad going for an only child of only parents.’

‘God, Mum, it’s not a competition,’ Fiona muttered, walking into the kitchen.

Jamie was sitting at the table with a piece of paper in his hands. He was very still.

‘What’ve you got there?’ Fiona asked as her mother brushed past her, mumbling about having been desperate for the toilet for hours.

Jamie looked up at her and held it out. ‘It’s a letter for me. It’s from Pete.’

CHAPTER 49

Chapter 49

Monday 12 January 1880

Robert’s body slumped to the ground. Ann stared at it, eyes wide. Dead. He was dead and she had done it. Ann looked around; there was no one to be seen. She had to follow her plan through. Taking out her handkerchief, she wiped Mattie’s needle clean then pierced it through the cloth again. She shoved it into her pocket then looked up as a cloud shifted, revealing a sliver of moon in the black sky. Something glistened in the silvery light. Blood, a pool of it. She pressed her handkerchief over his heart, to try to stem the flow.