‘Oh, no, Mr Shepherd, it wasn’t me who was reading it. I found it among my sister, Gina’s, things.’

‘Well, let us hope Gina didn’t waste her time with such nonsense then. It’s the kind of book that was published by a charlatan and sold privately in a small number. The binding is nice, which makes it look like a serious book, but think of it as being like a cure a snake-oil salesman might peddle: all for show and profit, with no basis in truth at all. Highly illegal, too. Everyone round here knows what happened to the Pendle witches and they were just wise women, not real witches at all. I suppose a museum might be interested in it as it’s so old, but for valid information it’s entirely useless.’

‘Yes, Mrs Travers thought so too.’

‘I take it there is no news of Gina?’

Ellen sighed heavily. ‘None at all. I’ve been to places I thought she might have been seen in Blackburn and Preston, but no one could help. It’s been a few weeks now.’

‘Well, if she’s half your sense, Ellen, I reckon she’ll turn up safely before too long.’

Ellen was not convinced, but it was nice to have the encouragement of her respected old friend.

Summer was waning and the evenings had a dimmer, more golden light about them now, towards the middle of August. The shadows were long and the air was damp with the hint of autumn.

Dora went along the lane towards Highview Farm with a little basket, hoping to find some blackberries that might have ripened already in the places where they would have caught the sun. A robin sang in the hedge alongside her and accompanied her on her walk. Ellen had gone ahead to the farm to see Edward, and Dora said she’d follow her up, share what blackberries she’d found on the way with Nancy, and they could discuss plans for the wedding.

Dora smiled; Nancy was keen to see Edward married to Ellen, but Ellen herself seemed in no hurry. It was as plain as it could be that she loved Edward, but she was also in love with gardening. When she wasn’t at the Hall, digging and planting and pruning and weeding, she was in the little garden at the cottage, doing the same but on a much smaller scale. Dear Nellie, such a funny girl. Any other lass would be up to her neck in wedding preparations with the prospect of a good man like Edward Beveridge putting a ring on her finger.

Ellen hadn’t said, but Dora just knew she was waiting for Gina to come home before she could settle down herself.