Had she been this miller’s mistress? The boy had been in no doubt of it. And whatever conclusion the constable may have come to, it seemed damn odd to him that the man had been found dead and Rose had done another flit. Had she let him paw her about and do some of the things the bloke’s dirty pictures had portrayed? He could imagine what they were like. Had she enjoyed it? Encouraged him even?

He thought his head would burst with the pressure of the blinding rage gripping him. His ears ringing, he kept digging, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

He dug down so far he had a struggle to climb out of the hole but once he had, he tipped the body into it and began covering it with earth. When he’d finished he trod the ground down and then lay the big clumps of grass and vegetation he’d been careful to remove with their roots intact on top. That accomplished, he scattered leaves and bits and pieces all around until he was satisfied that no one would guess a body was buried here. The grave was completely obscured and camouflaged perfectly to merge in with the rest of the glade.

The sun was high in the sky now – it must be well into the afternoon – and he found he was exhausted. He would have liked nothing more than to throw himself down and take a nap, but he wanted to get the spade back to where he had found it and then find a stream or river where he could wash himself and clean his boots and make himself presentable.

Once he reached the mill he approached it cautiously, mindful of the constable, but all was quiet and deserted. He replaced the spade by the privy, resisting the desire to try and force a window and get into the house to see where she had been residing for the last eighteen months or so. There must be nothing suspicious to alert anyone regarding the miller’s lad, besides which every second he was here it was risky. Nevertheless, he walked round the house peering in the windows, thinking of her sitting there, eating, drinking, laughing, sleeping with another man. If the miller hadn’t already been dead he would have liked to cut him up into little pieces, he thought savagely, his hands clenched fists.

The rage brought the pounding in his head to the fore again and he pressed his fingers against his temples, willing himself to calm down.

Once he was on the track leading away from the mill he walked swiftly before turning off into one of the numerous byways and lanes threading the countryside. There was nothing for it but to cut his losses for today and make for home once he’d cleaned himself up, but this wasn’t the end of his search, not by a long chalk, he promised himself.