Lucy realized that Edmund Sharpe must be the author Gabriel had mentioned to her earlier, the antiquarian who had claimed to have discovered the connection that Robert Catesby had to Gunpowder Cottage. She was more interested, however, in the look that Finn and Johnny exchanged. Clearly this was a conversation neither of them wanted to get into. Persis, however, seemed unaware of their reluctance.

“I believe in ghosts, and so does Geoffrey,” she said. She bent down to stroke Geoffrey’s silky ears as she spoke. “He sees things that other people can’t. He knows there’s something weird going on at the barn or why wouldn’t he go in there...”

Out of the corner of her eye, Lucy saw Finn make a sharp movement. “I don’t think Geoffrey’s eccentricities are the result of supernatural causes, Persis,” he said. “Dogs develop all sorts of reactions to things for different reasons.” He gave Lucy an apologetic smile. “We don’t want to drive you away, Lucy.”

“Thanks,” Lucy said, thinking of her weird dreams and the insistent sense that there were in fact other presences around at the barn. “I’m sure that, like Geoffrey, any weird experiences I have here will be the result of my own neurosis rather than anything supernatural.”

“Whatever,” Persis said. She was looking at Johnny; it was fairly obvious that his was the attention she wanted. “What do you think, Johnny?” she asked, looking at him slyly from out of the corner of her eye. “You’re supposed to be in touch with your paranormal side, aren’t you?”

Lucy wondered what on earth she meant, but it was clear Johnny knew because he gave her a less-than-friendly look before deliberately turning away.

“I think several hundred reviewers can’t be wrong,” he said. “Gunpowder Barn has a 4.5 approval rating on the holiday rental site and no one mentions ghosts, as far as I know.”

Persis didn’t seem fazed by his abruptness. “I’m sure you’re right,” she said, “but even so there’s a spooky atmosphere in Knightstone and Edmund Sharpe tuned in on that with his local legends. Wasn’t he the one who believed in the myth that Odin and his wolves haunt the Roman road—” She broke off as Finn crushed the can of lager he was holding in his hand with a sharp crack. Lucy saw the whiteness of his knuckles clenched around the metal. He turned away without another word and Persis, after a half scared, half defiant glance at Johnny, shot out of the cottage gate and disappeared down the path.

“Phew!” Johnny released his breath sharply. He grinned ruefully. “What a troublemaker that girl is. I could almost believe she deliberately wanted to wind us all up.” He glanced over his shoulder to where Finn was walking up the path to the house, face set, the can crumpled in his hand. Lucy followed his troubled gaze.

“What was all that stuff about Odin and ravens?” she asked.

“When Finn’s brother was killed on the Wantage Road,” Johnny said, “the Roman road as it’s called around here, some of the locals started trotting out the old legends about how the road is haunted and how Odin and his wolves appear out of the mists to force unwary motorists to their deaths.”