“Hello,” he said eagerly. “Would you like to look round? Entry is free.”

He sounded slightly too keen. Lucy found it slightly off-putting. This, she thought, must be Gabriel. His untidy cloud of fair hair and grey eyes reminded her sufficiently of Persis to make identification easy.

“Yes please,” Lucy said. “You must be Gabriel,” she added “I met your sister in the shop and she recommended that I take in the museum whilst I was here.”

The man’s face lit up. “Oh, great!” He stood aside to usher her through the door with rather more formality than the occasion seemed to warrant. Seeing that the interior of the heritage center was empty, Lucy couldn’t help wondering how many tourists were drawn there. No wonder Gabriel was lurking on the doorstep trying to lure people in.

The building, she discovered, was rather Tardis-like. It had appeared from the outside to be all on one level, yet now she could see a central spiral wooden stair rising to an upper floor. The long, low ground floor was lined on three sides with display cases. The fourth held the reception desk and a barrage of filing cabinets. The walls were covered with black-and-white photographs of Knightstone, some of which looked as though they dated back to the early part of the nineteenth century.

“There’s lots of books and newspaper cuttings and old parish records in the files,” Gabriel said, “but those are mostly for family history research. If you’re just interested in getting a taste of local history, check out the display cases. I’m working my way through them trying to update the collection—” he waved an arm around vaguely “—but there are lots of items and they haven’t been properly catalogued or stored over the years. Unfortunately there hasn’t been an official curator before—” his tone held a professional’s disdain for the amateurs who had preceded him “—so it’s taking a lot of time. Plus there’s not much money of course.” He smiled engagingly, dipping his head in the direction of a milk churn that had an opening in the top for donations.

Lucy took the hint, took a five-pound note from her purse and pushed it into the churn. She heard it whisper down into the depths. Gabriel looked gratified. “Thanks,” he said. “I know I said it’s free entry—”

“But the arts are underfunded and need supporting.” Lucy smiled at him. “It’s okay, I understand that. I’m... I used to be a musician.”

A sound from the floor above alerted her to the fact that they were not alone in the building after all.

“There’s an exhibition upstairs,” Gabriel said, following her gaze. “A local artist, Marilynne Redfern, aka my aunt.” He pointed to a flyer stuck to the wall that showed a painting of the Knights of Old Pub sign above the name “Marilynne Redfern, artist and sculptor.” Gabriel smoothed his hair. “She’s very good,” he said. “It’s not just nepotism.”

“It’s good to support local creatives,” Lucy said. “And I’m sure she is.” Gabriel, she thought, was an odd mixture of diffidence and boastfulness. “Did Marilynne design the pub sign?” she asked. “I saw it as I walked past. It’s very striking and...erm...an unusual name.”