Now she grinned, thinking of Lady Mair giving the prize for the best pig to a small bent man called Dai Hughes, who everyone had known would win because his sow, Anwen, was so white and fat. And their very own bull, Angus, had won best in show and been given a rosette to wear behind his ear!

She laughed out loud.

A sniff came from the depths of the room. A disapproving, tetchy sniff. ‘Had a good time, did you?’

‘Oh yes! It was such fun!’

‘I’m so glad.’ He didn’t sound at all glad.

‘Where are you?’ she said quietly.

Sam jumped over onto her quilt and purred.

‘No, not you,’ she said, smoothing his head. ‘You. Clockwork Crow.’

Silence. A rustle in the wardrobe.

‘You’re not still sulking in there?’

‘I’m not sulking, silly girl,’ he snapped. ‘I’m cogitating.’

‘Well, come and do it out here.’

Another creak, louder this time. A rattle. Then, ‘I can’t. The stupid door seems to have locked itself on me.’

Seren grinned. Pushing Sam aside she sat up, swung her feet out and went and tugged the curtains wide so that sunlight, already warm, flooded the room. She opened the casement and let in the soft, sweet, summer air. Then she unlocked the wardrobe and stood back.

The Clockwork Crow stalked out.

He was moth-eaten and his beak was bent and his black feathers were very ruffled, but he held his head high with rigid dignity. He flapped up to the windowsill, folded his wings and glared out at the sunny lawns and blue lake. ‘Another glorious summer day! How lovely!’

Seren sighed. ‘You’re still in a bad mood.’

The Crow didn’t even bother to answer.

She didn’t like this. Usually he would have told her off for lounging in bed and then demanded answers to a whole list of nosy questions about the Fair: who was there, what they did, what they ate, who won what.

He would have been scornful and boastful and slyly interested.

She wished he would even tell her off. It would be better than silence. She sat on the bed. ‘So what was in your brother’s letter?’

‘None of your business.’

‘Yes, it is.’ Seren crossed her legs. ‘Anyway I already know. Enoch is in London. He can’t get here. Because he’s in prison.’

The Crow almost choked. ‘What!’

Seren tried to look modest. ‘I deduced it. It was … elementary.’

The Crow was still spluttering. ‘I can’t believe…’

‘I know it’s a bit of a disgrace for your family. But if it’s just for debt…’

‘Stop. STOP!’ The Crow held up a wing furiously. ‘AT ONCE!’

She stopped.

The Crow drew itself up. ‘How dare you sit there and tell me Enoch is in prison!’

‘But … the envelope…’

With a flourish the Crow produced the letter. ‘Read it for yourself, Miss Detective. I mean, I wouldn’t want you to think I was telling lies!’

She took it and read it, and felt her face getting redder and redder.