Car headlights cut through the dark at the top of the track and the sound of an engine stirred the silence. Someone was driving down to the barn. Lucy got up. Her head was still full of Catherine and the sight of the wooden box. She made her way through the living room and turned on all the lights in the courtyard. The open approach suggested that this was no covert nighttime visitor and the orange flash of a taxi sign outside the window confirmed it. She opened the front door.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re awake!” Verity was emerging from the back seat of the taxi, looking fresh as a new pin for all that she must have endured over twenty-four hours of travel. “I didn’t want to disturb you, but I wanted to get back home as soon as I could. I felt—” An unusual note of uncertainty entered her voice. “Well, I needed to be here. I did send a text when I landed,” she added, enfolding Lucy in a warm hug that reminded her irresistibly of her childhood. “I didn’t want it to be a complete surprise.”

“I’ve had my phone off,” Lucy said. “It doesn’t matter at all. I’m just glad you’re here. It feels...right.” She hugged Verity back.

“It feels right to me too,” Verity said, beaming. Behind her the taxi driver was stolidly unloading suitcase after suitcase onto the cobbles.

“Come on in,” Lucy said. “I’ve got so much to tell you.”

It was late that morning when Lucy walked up to the village heritage center. She passed the café on the way and Persis gave her a determinedly normal wave through the window. Perhaps in time, Lucy thought, things would start to feel more normal, but they would never be the same again. In the museum, Gabriel was listlessly moving various items around. His previous air of superiority seemed to have vanished. So had Marilynne’s exhibition, replaced by a series of pictures from the primary school which were rather charming.

“Hello!” Gabriel said to Lucy, quite as though nothing untoward had ever happened. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve got a rather unusual request,” Lucy said. She unfolded a piece of paper from her bag. “I wondered if I could borrow the key from the local artifacts cabinet? The curator at Chastleton House thinks they have a match for it and would appreciate an intermuseum loan.” She waved the paper. “I have the authorization here.”

Gabriel took the sheet from her. “It’s very irregular,” he said, though Lucy thought he had been soothed by the use of the phrase intermuseum loan. “We’ve only just put the key back on display.”

“I appreciate that,” Lucy said. After years in Marilynne’s possession the key had been reunited with the other objects her father had found in 1946 that were on display. “However it would only be for a short time and as you can see—” she gestured to the printed email “—they would be extremely grateful.”