The journey takes only twenty minutes, but still Tilda is relieved when the bus swings into the line of bays near the main car park that constitutes the bus station. As she steps out through the automatic door she finds her palms are damp with sweat and her knuckles white from being clenched. The short, chilly walk to the museum helps to calm her a little. There is scarcely anyone about, the streets all but empty save for the occasional dog-walker or bleary-eyed holiday maker clutching top-up supplies of bread and milk from the ever-open supermarket. Tilda is only vaguely aware of the curious glances thrown in her direction. Her hair is mostly covered by her warm hat, and her duffle coat and scarf hide her further. Only a person passing close by on the pavement would be able to see the strange paleness of her skin and the startling transparency of her eyes. She is, as she had anticipated, the only visitor to the museum. Mr. Reynolds looks up from behind the reception desk, sees her, reacts minutely, recovers himself and musters a practiced smile.

‘Good morning,’ he says in a tuneful, youthful voice, despite clearly being near retirement age. He is tall, angular, with a lifetime of careful reading etched into his lean face. ‘Miss Fordwells, is it?’

‘Please, call me Tilda.’ She offers her hand and he shakes it briefly, falling into distracted chatter, as many people do to cover their unease on first seeing her.

‘As I mentioned on the telephone, we seldom have visitors so close to Christmas Day. I only open up because, you know, I have things to do, and if I’m here we may as well be available to the public. Now, if I can just ask for £3.50 for your admission ticket…?’

‘Of course.’ She fumbles for the money with cold fingers. ‘It’s good of you to give me access to the archive. I really do appreciate it.’

‘We are here to assist in any way we can, and my goodness, if we can’t help a local artist draw inspiration from our heritage then we wouldn’t be doing our job at all well, would we? You say your particular area of interest is Llangors Lake?’

‘That’s right, and the crannog. I’m really keen to find out about the people who lived there right at the end. Just before it was attacked by the army from Mercia.’

‘Ah, Aethelflaed struck a cruel blow. It was never inhabited again after that, you know?’

‘I understand the buildings were destroyed. Everything was burned, wasn’t it?’