The kitchen is small, with the table wedged up against the wall, three chairs set around it. He takes a seat while Gwen helps with the sandwiches, retrieving a loaf from the wooden bread bin and butter and cheese from the larder. Jack’s eyes explore the room, taking in the row of Toby jugs on the mantel above the range and the amateur paintings of local landscapes on the walls, until at last they settle on a sepia photograph inside an oak frame: a smiling woman and a small boy. For the first time, he fully appreciates all the farmer has lost and his chest tightens as he looks away.

After lunch, with Ted having refused Gwen’s request to wash-up, they don their dusty boots and head back outside.

They are prevented from reaching the rickyard by the frantic tingling of a bicycle bell. Muriel whisks through the gate, pedalling furiously, her cheeks streaked red from the rake of the bitter wind. Tom balances before her, squealing at their thrilling speed.

Muriel puts her sturdy lace-ups to the ground bringing the bike to a stop. Tom starts to jabber excitedly, but she cuts over the top of him.

‘Have you heard?’

‘Heard what?’

‘About Gordon Allingham?’

Gwen looks at her blankly. From their position on the bales, the threshing team detect a hint of gossip and angle their heads towards it, like flowers seeking sunshine.

Muriel lifts Tom down. ‘Go and play on the lawn for a minute, Tom, while I have a quick word with Mummy and then I’ll take you home.’

‘We bought buns from the bakery,’ he announces as Muriel gently pushes him away.

‘They sound lovely, save one for me.’ Gwen’s smile vanishes as soon as he is out of earshot. ‘What on earth’s happened?’

‘He’s dead.’

‘What?’ Ted and Gwen exclaim in shocked unison. Jack’s face darkens, his brow furrowing.

‘What do you mean, he’s dead?’ Gwen stares at her in bewilderment.

‘They found him this morning in the lane, just beyond the Hall’s gates.’ Muriel pitches forward, her voice dropping. ‘He’s been shot.’

‘Oh God.’ Gwen’s hand flies to her mouth. To her utter shame, her greatest emotion is relief.

‘I heard from Mrs Grimsby – her brother-in-law is the lodge keeper – that he’d gone off on that new bike of his last night and hadn’t come back. No one seemed particularly bothered until this morning, when one of the groundsmen headed out to do some maintenance on the park wall and found him there – bike on its side, skewed off the road, him underneath it. At first, he thought he’d had an accident, come off it like, but when he went running over, he saw …’ She taps her chest. ‘Hell of a mess, apparently.’

‘I can’t believe it. Oh God, I can’t believe it.’

‘You’re trembling,’ Jack says quietly, laying his hand on Gwen’s back.