It was Mr Parker. He was two steps above us but he still only seemed to be my height. With the yellow light of the hallway turning him into something more like a silhouette than an actual being of flesh and bone, I had a sudden vision of a creature from a fairy tale. He was Rumpelstiltskin. He was a gnome of a man. He had the appearance of a jockey turned to drink. His skinny legs disappeared into big workboots and the shabby coat he wore on top of his overalls had patches at the elbows. His collar was held shut with a tie knotted so tightly that it looked like it had been used to restrain an angry bull. His face was all creases and folds and his huge nose made me think of a bird’s beak. His blue eyes were set deep into his head – holes in snow. His wig was not the same colour as his eyelashes. They were fair but the mop of hair atop his round head was dark. It looked like he had ripped somebody else’s hair from their scalp and elected to wear it as a hat.

‘Mrs Hemlock,’ he said, and the ‘s’ sounded like a ‘z’. He cocked his head, quizzically. Looked at me for a moment more than he needed to and then did the same to Felicity. Wheels were turning in his head. ‘Mrs Goose. Is all well?’

The silence stretched out for a time. I was chewing my lip. I wanted there to be a sudden moment of clarity; a coming together of half-formed thoughts into one perfect sensation of comprehension. But as I looked at Mr Parker I saw only the same funny little man who had tried to be kind to me after Stefan had died.

‘Could we possibly have a moment with you, Mr Parker?’ asked Felicity, and I was amazed to hear her speak first. ‘It’s a silly thing but it’s about Fairfax.’

‘Fairfax?’ he asked, straightening up a little. ‘A tragedy. But please, please, do come in.’

I paused for a moment, gathering myself, and then I did as instructed. Mr Parker stood with his arm out, pointing down the hallway, and I went in the direction he instructed. Felicity came behind. As I passed him I smelled nothing that I would not associate with a middle-aged farmer. Just cows and sweat, fresh air and cold.

The hallway was a pleasing space. Wide, with wooden dressers all along one side, stocked with porcelain ornaments and animal sculptures. The other wall was hung with oil paintings in gaudy frames. Rural scenes. Hay wagons and sunset harvests. There was no carpet on the floor but two threadbare rugs had been trodden into the wooden boards.

‘Second on the left,’ he said, and I turned the handle of the white-painted door.