It was a cold night, the stars high, the air faintly luminous, and a few wispy clouds moved over the bright segment of the moon. And now the wind was rising, not steadily but in short gusts like an expelled breath. She moved like a ghost down the lime walk, flitting from trunk to concealing trunk. But she had no real fear of being seen. The west wing was in darkness, and no other windows overlooked the lime walk. As she reached the stone wall and the moon-blanched stones were fully in sight, a blast of wind rippled along the dark hedgerow, setting the bare twigs creaking and the long grasses beyond the circle whispering and swaying. She was sorry that the wind was so erratic. She knew that it would help the fire, but its very unpredictability would be dangerous. This was to be a memorial, not a second sacrifice. She must take care that the fire never got too close. She sucked a finger and held it up, trying to decide the way the wind was blowing, then moved among the stones as quietly as if she feared that someone was lurking behind them, and set the bags of faggots beside the central stone. Then she made her way to the ditch.

It took a few minutes to find the plastic bags with the paraffin cans; for some reason she thought she had left them closer to the stones and the travelling moon, the brief periods of light and dark, was disorientating. She crept along the ditch, crouching low, but her hands encountered only weeds and grasses and the cold slime of the sludge. At last she found what she sought and carried the cans over to the kindling. She should have brought a knife. The first string bag was tougher than she had expected and it took a few minutes of her tugging before it burst open and the wood spilled out.

And now she began to construct a circle of wood inside the stones. It couldn’t be too distanced or the ring of fire would be incomplete, or too near in case it caught her. Bending and working methodically, she at last completed the circle to her satisfaction, then, unscrewing the cap and holding the first paraffin can with great care, she bent double and made her way around the circle of kindling, anointing each stick. She found she had poured the paraffin too lavishly, and with the second can was more careful. Anxious to start the fire, and satisfied that the faggots were well doused, she used only half the paraffin.