Lucy gave a splutter of laughter. “That’s an original excuse for terrorism, Cleo. But yes it does feel as though all that bereavement must have destabilized him. I do find it interesting that up until that year he’d been content to be... What was it they called it—a church papist?”

“Yeah,” Cleo said. “Someone who either pretended to be happy conforming to the Protestant religion or was genuinely content to attend Protestant church even though they were a Roman Catholic.”

“And then after Catherine died, Catesby became a fanatic,” Lucy said.

“He got involved in the Essex Rebellion, and funded Jesuit priests, and was in touch with King Philip of Spain to ask for money to support the Catholic faith in England,” Cleo said. “Sam and I did a project on the Gunpowder Plot with the local school a few years ago,” she added. “I read Antonia Fraser’s book about it at the time.”

Had Robert Catesby always been inspired to the fight by his spiritual beliefs, Lucy wondered, or had the balance of his mind been tipped by loss and grief to embrace a cause that was all-consuming, something that could fill the void? If Catherine had lived, would it have been different? Whatever the case, Robert had ended up as one of the most notorious men in English history.

“You didn’t mind me inviting myself to stay, did you?” Cleo asked, as they turned down the lane to the barn. “I want to keep an eye on you whilst all this weird stuff is going on.”

“I thought it was because you were hoping Lizzie Kingdom might drop in to visit Finn,” Lucy said dryly. “No, of course I don’t mind. It’s sweet of you, and thank you for the lift as well.”

There were lights on in Gunpowder Cottage but the barn was in darkness and the valley below was shrouded in shadow. “It’s strange to imagine all of this as part of some elaborate garden,” Cleo said as she pulled her traveling bag out of the back of the car. “I wonder what on earth happened to destroy every last vestige of it?”

“It was a long time ago,” Lucy said. “Gardens disappear. Houses do too, don’t they? Layer upon layer of history...” She shivered suddenly in the warm air. Now that she was back here Catherine suddenly seemed to be with her again; the air almost crackled with her presence, though not in a menacing way. Lucy looked at Cleo to see if she could feel it too, but her sister seemed supremely unaware of any atmosphere. Lucy opened the door and snapped on the lights. The room burst in brightness, looking entirely normal.

“I’d almost be excited to be here—” Cleo was already upstairs, twirling around on the galleried landing “—if it wasn’t for the fact that you’ve convinced me the place is haunted and I’m expecting the ghost of Catherine Catesby to pop out of the bathroom at any moment. It really is a fabulous place. Am I in here?” She took her bag into the spare bedroom. “Do you want me to leave my door open?” she called, over her shoulder. “In case you get spooked in the night?”