‘Oh, it looks lovely!’

The little town was decked out in all its finery for the Summer Fair. Gold and blue pennants rippled from windows and chimneys, and on the church flagpole a great red dragon flapped in the breeze. From the crowded streets rose all sorts of interesting smells and noises – Seren could hear hawkers crying their wares, the constant bleat of sheep, the lowing of calves and the loud, raw music of a hurdy-gurdy.

‘I could have a toffee apple,’ Tomos said, anxiously. ‘Couldn’t I?’

Lady Mair laughed. She seemed almost as excited as her son. ‘Yes! And so will I.’

Mrs Villiers gave Seren a shrewd glance. ‘You’re not so chatty as usual, my girl. Feeling a bit sick? I have some ginger pastilles…’

‘I’m fine, honestly,’ Seren said hastily. ‘Mmmm. Smell the honeysuckle!’

The hedges were high now on each side of the cart as Denzil eased it expertly down the steep, rutted lane. The wheels jolted; Mrs Villiers clutched the seat and held on.

‘Lord! How dry and broken the road is!’

It was true. There had been no rain for weeks. The harvest would be a fine one, and the hedgerows were ablaze with flowers, but the water in the well at Plas-y-Fran was a long way down and Captain Jones had been worried about his thirsty cattle.

Tomos slid over beside Seren. ‘What's wrong?’ he said quietly.

‘Nothing.’

‘There is. You’ve been looking forward to this for weeks.’

‘I am!’

‘Not as much as you were yesterday.’

She frowned. But it was right he should know. ‘Well, maybe. You see, it’s the Crow.’

Tomos glanced round. He moved a little closer. ‘He’s not flown away or got himself broken, has he?’

‘No. It’s worse than that. Remember that letter that came yesterday? Addressed to me?’

Tomos nodded. ‘Yes! You never get letters. You said it was from a girl you knew in the orphanage and…’

‘That was a bit of a lie.’ Seren went red. ‘Well, a complete lie. Actually it was this.’

She pulled the letter out of her pocket and handed it to him, and then watched as he read it quickly, while Mrs Villiers was busy swatting flies.

The dirty envelope contained a scrap of paper that looked as if it had been torn from the bottom of a printed page. Scribbled on it was a hasty message.

Dear Miss Seren

I would be most grateful if you would pass on the enclosed letter to my brother. It is not good news. Please look after him. I cannot come at present in person, as I have certain, er, personal difficulties. I will be there as soon as they let me out.

I remain

Yours most sincerely

Enoch Marchmain

Tomos whistled. ‘The Crow’s brother? That tall, thin man?

Seren nodded.

‘So what does it mean?’

Seren took the paper from him and tried to look like her favourite detective. ‘Watson, you know my methods. First, you must examine the envelope.’ She turned it over. ‘Observe. The address is written with a pencil, and the writing is very scribbly. Notice the hurried S and the almost illegible Y…’