“Did you ever speak to her?” Lucy asked. “Interact in any way?”

“No,” Verity said, “and once I’d started to feel better it felt as though I kind of lost my connection to her. But that reminds me of the earlier case I referred to. Apparently there was a quite well-known story from after the war where a woman actually met the ghost of Catherine in the orchards and held a conversation with her.”

“I read about that today,” Lucy said. “She identified herself as Catherine Catesby and was crying over her lost treasure.”

“That’s the one,” Verity said. “Extraordinary.” Her tone changed. “I need to go in a minute, but I’m kind of concerned that you’re seeing this ghost repeatedly, Lucy. Is it freaking you out?”

“No,” Lucy said. “I’m okay. I’m curious, really. I think Catherine needs our help in some way, but I haven’t figured it out yet.”

“Okay,” Verity said. “Look, I’ll give you a ring again tomorrow when we can have longer to talk. Hell, when I offered you a holiday I really didn’t expect—” She broke off. “It feels like she attaches herself to grief in some way, doesn’t she,” she said. “Catherine, I mean.”

“Yes,” Lucy said. “I think so. It’s a pity the only other mention of it was so long ago,” she added. “I would have loved to talk to whoever it was who met Catherine.”

“Well,” Verity said, “you can. Her name’s Maud Enright and she lives in the village. She’s about ninety-seven but as far as I know, she’s still going strong. You’ll find her in Cooper’s Piece, two doors down from the Redferns.”

Sixteen

Anne Catesby

Knightstone Manor
Autumn 1598

On hearing that Robert had deserted Knightstone, Sir Thomas and Lady Leigh decreed that their daughter should be taken back to Stoneleigh and buried there in the family vault. A cart came from Warwickshire, draped in black silk with the Leigh and Catesby arms entwined, and the sad little cortege, escorted by her father’s retainers, took Catherine home. None of us had been invited to Stoneleigh for Catherine’s funeral. It felt very much as though the Leigh family had closed ranks; its connection to the ill-fated Catesbys at an end. Nevertheless I tried to maintain good relations for the sake of little Robbie. He had Leigh grandparents and I did not want them to forget it, not least because they would be able to pay something toward his education when the time came, if they chose to do so.

“I will erect a memorial to Catherine at the church in Knightstone,” I wrote to Sir Thomas and Lady Leigh. “It is fitting that she should be commemorated here in a place she loved, albeit for such a short time.”

I chose a block of local sarsen stone and asked the mason to carve Catherine’s name, the date and a Bible verse on it: “Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”

“Very fitting, my lady,” Byram said, as we stood under the dripping yews of the churchyard on a gray autumnal day, the rain and my tears mingling, “though I might have expected you to have had your fill of treasure.” There were a scattering of servants and villagers present but no one else. This was not a funeral, after all, only a commemoration, and Robert himself had declined to return home for it. He had ordered that the manor be closed once we had finished our sad observances, so I had sent all of little Robbie’s possessions to Ashby and the rest to Chastleton. Catherine’s personal belongings I had returned to her father along with her body. She had left no will but as Robert seemed utterly adrift from her and from their former home, I thought it the most fitting thing to do.