‘Twisted,’ said Canon Thorby; ‘that is the operative word. You see, even those Apostles whom we call the Synoptists give varying accounts of the same event. So much depends upon what one wishes to see. I’ve been thinking today, at every moment when my mind has not been otherwise engaged, about what you said this morning. I want to ask you something, which goes, I think, to the very heart of the matter. You saw the marks of Ethel’s beating, didn’t you? Now, if old Phoebe Rigby has one-thousandth of the power which you seem to attribute to her, why did she allow Ethel to go to school bearing those marks – marks she could show to anyone and say, “Look what my granny did to me!” How can you explain that?’

‘In two ways. First, the old woman knows that she holds over Ethel some supremely dreadful threat, something that Ethel fears far more than physical ill-usage. That is why, on both my visits, Ethel has taken pains to side with her grandmother and deceive me. The first time it was an all-good-friends-here act, the second it was an I-provoked-her-and-deserve-all-I-got one. Secondly, witches never claimed, never had, more than limited powers. What they inflicted they could cure. A natural mark made by an actual stick, wielded by a human hand, is a very different matter. The things work at different levels. Sydney’s illness – and, I think, Mrs Baines’s shingles – were on Granny Rigby’s level. When everything is known, if it ever is, you’ll find that Mrs Baines came home on that Saturday not to feed Wesley but to strike a bargain with Mrs Rigby. And I believe . . . I’m almost sure that that bargain included keeping Sydney in Walwyk. Ethel is – though she cunningly denies it – much attached to Sydney. I think that is the final threat. Why should she, on my first visit, the moment we were alone, ask was Sydney all right? Why shouldn’t he be? I know it’s all vague and it all sounds crazy, but I’m sure it’s there, and something should be done about it. I won’t have Ethel ill-treated, and I won’t have Wesley Baines branded as a suicide when I know he was nothing of the sort.’

‘Can you prevent it?’

‘I can try. I shall go to the inquest and say what I think.’

He stood up, his empty plate in his hand.

‘I’m going to eat some fruit now. Surely you could eat a few strawberries; they’re at their best, gathered less than an hour ago.’

‘I just can’t swallow.’

He said mildly, ‘That – if we were studying your state of mind – could be considered proof of a hysterical state. Did you know that? It is a fact. But I won t use it it against you.’

He came back to the table.