He shook his head. ‘Ach, you don’t want to know. Besides, he says if I talks about it, that’ll be the worse for me.’

‘Who says that? Is someone threatening you?’

‘Not exactly. But they wants us off of this land.’

‘But why? I don’t understand.’

He offered no explanation. But even though the sun was still shining and the sky perfectly blue, the peaceful mood of the woodland had disappeared.

‘Look, Mr Eli, I know Pa thinks highly of your work in the churchyard. And I’m sure he’d come to your aid, if you need it. You only have to ask.’

‘Thank you, my dearies,’ he said, simply. ‘Come see me again, won’t you?’

‘Hello, we’re back,’ I called. ‘Anyone home?’

Mrs D’s face appeared round the kitchen door, finger to her lips. ‘Your father’s in a meeting with Mr Blackman. Says they mustn’t be disturbed.’

My heart sank. I took a book into the garden, hoping for a few moments of peace, but after about five minutes Jimmy came outside, pestering me, so I gave up the idea of revising and suggested we did some weeding. Mr D did his best with the garden, mowing the lawn every few weeks and cutting back the more unruly shrubs, but his artificial leg made it hard for him to kneel, for reaching into the flower beds. Earlier that week I’d found Pa walking around the garden, pulling ineffectually at the weeds strangling the rose bushes.

So, taking a trug and a couple of pairs of gardening gloves from the greenhouse, I showed Jimmy how to identify and pull out the bindweed, and how to avoid getting pricked by the roses. He loved to feel useful and proved to be surprisingly careful in his task.

We’d been at work only a few moments when I heard the latch of the dining-room window and saw Pa’s hand pushing open the casement a few yards away. Then, as clearly as though we were in the same room, I heard him say, ‘. . . and are you telling me that this money has just disappeared into thin air?’

We should have moved to another part of the garden, but the longer I dithered, the more difficult it became. Henry Blackman seemed to emphasise every syllable with a series of vocal hammer blows: ‘The church has three bank accounts: current, revenue and capital. The previous incumbent and I were signatories to the current and revenue accounts, but because of a mix-up at the bank, they failed to change the signatories for the capital account. I have only recently been able to gain access to one of them to check out how much is in it.’

‘And . . .?’

‘And it’s empty.’

‘Empty?’

‘As I said, empty.’

‘How much was supposed to be in it?’

‘Five thousand pounds. Or thereabouts.’

I nearly dropped my trowel. Five thousand pounds. Enough to buy several houses.