Taking the washing line, she bound herself to the central stone. This was trickier than she had expected, but at last she discovered that the best plan was to circle the stone twice with the rope, then step into it, raise it along her body and tighten it. It helped that the centre stone, her altar, was taller but smoother and narrower than the others. This done, she tied the rope at the front of her waist, letting the long ends dangle. Taking the matches from her pocket, she stood rigid for a moment, her eyes closed. The wind gusted and then was calm. She said to Mary Keyte, “This is for you. This is in memory of you. This is to tell you I know you were innocent. They’re taking me away from you. This is the last time I can visit you. Speak to me.” But tonight there was no answering voice.

She struck a match and threw it towards the circle of wood, but the wind blew out the flame almost as soon as it had been lit. She tried again and again with shaking hands. She was close to sobbing. It wasn’t going to work. She would have to get closer to the circle and then run back to the sacrificial stone and tie herself again. But suppose the fire didn’t take even then? And as she stared up the avenue, the great trunks of the limes grew and closed in together; their top branches merged and tangled, fracturing the moon. The path narrowed to a cavern, and the west wing, which had been a dark distant shape, dissolved into the greater darkness.

And now she could hear the crowd of villagers arriving. They were jostling down the narrowed lime walk, their distant voices rising to a shout which pounded at her ears. Burn the witch! Burn the witch! She killed our cattle. She poisoned our babies. She murdered Lucy Beale. Burn her! Burn her! And now they were at the wall. But they didn’t climb over. They jostled against it, the crowd growing, gasping mouths like a row of death heads, screaming hatred at her.

And suddenly the shouting stopped. A figure detached itself, came over the wall and moved up to her. A voice she knew said gently and with a note of reproach, “How could you think I would let you do this alone? I knew you wouldn’t fail her. It won’t work the way you’re doing it. I’ll help. I’ve come as the Executioner.”