That is so, thought Edith, and in this story, she saw more than a glimmer of hope. She saw it was her grandmother’s wedding gift to her, brought by the mayor’s wife.

‘I should be leaving,’ said Georgeta. ‘It will soon be dark.’

The mayor was at home in his study, smoking his pipe. He had long been contemplating a letter from a merchant who was concerned about his son who he had last heard from in the spring when he’d written to tell his parents he was to marry a village girl called Edith. The mayor knew he should have done something when Demetrius didn’t return to the village but he hadn’t. The butcher had got the better of him.

If the mayor was honest – a quality the merchant’s letter now demanded – he’d been frightened of the butcher ever since they were young. The son of a butcher, even as a boy he’d been stronger, bigger than other lads his age. He was a fighter and the mayor had been his punch bag.

Since they’d become men, the mayor’s comfort had been that he was better educated, richer and more powerful than the butcher. But last summer his confidence had been shattered on the night of the hunting party. The innkeeper had sent for him when a troubling incident occurred. The mayor had been greeted at the inn door by the butcher.

‘Go home,’ he’d said. ‘This is none of your business.’

‘I’m here to enforce the law.’

A smile had momentarily flickered across the butcher’s thin lips. The mayor shuddered to think of it.

‘By all means come in and rattle that chain of office,’ he’d said, ‘if you want me to tell the elders about your son.’

‘My son?’ said the mayor.

‘Yes, your son. What I know about him would ruin you.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘I’d tell you but I don’t want to sully my mouth. You’ll receive a package of letters tomorrow.’

‘What letters?’ said the mayor. His stomach churned.

‘Letters I found when I helped dig out the bodies at the house of the miller’s son. So are you coming in?’

‘I was called here by the innkeeper,’ said the mayor.

The butcher stepped back, opening the door wide. ‘Then you must do what you must do. And I’ll do what I must do.’

The mayor didn’t move. The butcher went back inside the inn and closed the door.

The mayor stood outside, shaking at his own impotence. He was trying to compose himself when from an open window of the inn he heard the butcher then the slurred voice of a drunken young man.

‘So you know where to find my brother?’ said the young man. ‘Can you take me there?’

The mayor now regretted he hadn’t stayed to hear the butcher’s reply.