I was in the forefront of women working in the field of stained-glass window making at the turn of the century, including the setting-up of my own workshop here at Mossby during my tragically short marriage. But my achievements in that craft are already well documented, particularly in Miss Cecilia McCrum’s recent excellent and exhaustively researched publication, A Brief History of Women Artists in Glass.

However, little has been written about my private life and this journal, which I kept at the time of my marriage, will go some considerable way to explaining my reticence until now in this matter.

Mossby has always held its secrets close, but it will be a relief to me to lay bare the Revell family skeletons at last, even if this book must then be secreted away.

At eighteen, I do not feel that Joshua is ready for the revelations I am about to make, particularly since his aunt Honoria, who dotes on him, has brought him up to idolize the memory of the father he never knew. But perhaps one day he will discover the secret of its hiding place for himself, in the same way I did …

1

Fallen Idol

Carey

Late November 2014

Carey Revell lay on his hospital bed, propped in a semi-recumbent position by an efficient nurse and rendered temporarily speechless by the astonishing information his visitor had just imparted to him.

Though Mr Wilmslow was a country solicitor of a prosaic turn of mind and not usually given to flights of fancy, it suddenly occurred to him that with his large frame, gentian-blue eyes, thick, red-gold hair and the stubble burnishing his face, his new client resembled nothing so much as a fallen Viking warrior.

He had the typical Revell looks all right – there was no mistaking his heritage – though on a much larger and more resplendent scale.

Carey’s left leg, the flesh scarred, misshapen, patched by skin grafts, and also bearing the marks of the pins that had held it immobile in a metal cage while the shattered bones finally knitted, was mercifully hidden by loose tracksuit trousers. The nerves and muscles still twitched and jangled painfully from his earlier physiotherapy session, but the news his unexpected visitor had brought him had for once relegated this dismal symphony of discomfort to the background.

‘Do you have any questions? I know it’s a lot to take in at once,’ said Mr Wilmslow, breaking the silence.

‘Yes, it certainly is,’ agreed Carey rather numbly, wondering for an instant if he might be still under the influence of heavy painkillers and dreaming all this. His eyes dropped once more to the letter the solicitor had brought him and he read it through for the third time.