“Sit down, Sister,” said Mig. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, don’t worry about me,” said the nun, pulling herself together. “I’ve been called worse, and that was in the convent. It’s that young lass we should be worrying about. Clearly something pretty awful’s happened to her.”

“She’s not a lass, she’s in her twenties and highly intelligent,” Mig heard himself saying defensively. “She has a First in math from Melbourne University and she’s here to carry on her studies at Cambridge.”

“That makes it worse,” said Angelica. “For a mature woman to react like that means… I can’t think what it might mean.”

“Extraordinary,” murmured Dunstan. “Whatever it means, I think it marks a convenient point to terminate our meeting. I was already feeling a little fatigued. I don’t get out very often, Madero, and when I do, I rarely encounter such excitements as these. Now I feel I could not give these weighty matters we were discussing my full attention. Would it be possible for you to join us up at the Hall in the morning? About eleven o’clock, no point in being uncivilized.”

“That would suit me very well,” said Mig.

“That’s settled then,” said Sister Angelica. “Come on, Woollasses. Let’s get you home. Then it’s up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire for both of you by the look of it.”

She escorted the two men across the room. At the door Frek joined them, but made no move to take over the nun’s comforting role. She glanced toward Mig, raised her eyebrows as if to say wasn’t that fun?, then followed the others out of the bar.

All eyes watched them go but no one called goodnight.

Mig finished his brandy, taking his time. Then he too rose and made for the door.

En route he let his gaze touch everyone he knew, but no one was catching his eye.

Out in the dark hall, he could see a chink of light under the kitchen door.

What was going on in there?

Should he knock and ask how Sam was?

He thought about it.

The answer was no. Whatever balm Edie Appledore was pouring on to the little Australian’s troubled spirit, he didn’t want to risk disturbing the process.

He made his usual silent way up the stairs to his bedroom.

It wasn’t till she’d been talking to Edie Appledore for ten minutes that it struck Sam that in fact this woman wasn’t part of the solution but part of the problem.

By then she’d drunk an ounce of the landlady’s excellent cognac and was now drinking her second mug of coffee and, not having eaten since the pub at lunchtime, feeling a strong inclination to get her teeth into a second slice of the scrumptious chocolate cake which had been set on a plate before her.

Another woman in face of these goodies might have felt inhibited from suddenly diverting from confidence to accusation, but such social niceties had never troubled Sam.

“You lied to me as well,” she broke out. “Soon as I got here, the way I looked, and my name, they all meant something to you but you said nothing.”

The woman made no attempt at denial.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “But round here you don’t tell folk what you don’t need to tell them, not until you’ve got some idea exactly what it is they’re after.”

This philosophy was close enough to her pa’s to quieten Sam for a moment. But rapidly she resumed: “It was more than just keeping quiet, wasn’t it? You did things too. OK, nothing as extreme as knocking me off a ladder like the Gowders. But you spread the word about me, didn’t you?”

“I rang Thor, yes. But that was it. If what you say about the Gowders is right, I’m sorry, but I’m not responsible for what they get up to, am I?”

“I suppose not,” said Sam, beginning to feel frustrated. “But you searched my room, right?”

“I did not!” declared the landlady indignantly. “I never laid a hand on your things.”

“Someone did.”

“Then I apologize. In my house! I’ve been meaning to get proper locks on those bedroom doors. Anyone could have crept up the stairs and got in. You believe me?”

Sam nodded. Why shouldn’t she believe her? This was truth time.

She finished her story, telling all that she’d discovered in Newcastle, and then she settled to wait for the payback.

They were seated at an angle of the big table, chairs skewed so they faced each other. Mrs. Appledore stretched out her right hand, laid it on Sam’s left and squeezed hard. It was a gesture too natural to be intimidating.

Then she said, “I bet you’ve hardly had a thing to eat since you left here this morning, right? Get stuck into that cake. It’s all right, you know. We don’t do the dead any good by starving ourselves.”

She wasn’t being evasive, Sam recognized, just practical. And she was right.

She carved another slice of cake and took a large bite.

“Grand,” approved Mrs. Appledore. “Now, where were we? Oh yes. You’re dead right, of course. Soon as I set eyes on you I thought of little Pam. It was the hair. Not so much the face, though I do see a resemblance, except in the eyes. And of course she was a little elf of a thing like you.”

“And you said nothing!” accused Sam.

“What was I to say? You said your name was Sam Flood. It was all I could do not to slap your face! I thought someone’s playing a dreadful joke on me. Then I saw your passport. I’ve never asked to see a passport in my life, but I needed to see yours. When I saw your name really was Sam Flood, I began to think it was maybe just an unfortunate coincidence. Or more truthful, I began to hope it was. And when you said your gran had left in 1960, I heaved a sigh of relief. It was still very odd, but you were so definite. And one thing I knew for certain was that it was 1961 when little Pam left Illthwaite.”

“Tell me about her. It’s Pam you’re calling her, not Sam, right? Did she have a second name?”

“Galley. Like the ship. Pamela Galley. But we all called her Pam.”

“So it would have been easy for her to answer to Sam?”

“Oh yes. Though the truth is little Pam wasn’t much for answering to anything. She was the quietest kid you could imagine, and afterward she was even quieter if that was possible.”

“Afterward? After what?”

The woman shrugged, not indifferently but with a suppressed anger.

“Who knows?” she said. “But now we can guess. We just thought it was the shock of her seeing Madge Gowder die. Maybe that’s what we wanted to think. After what you’ve found out, though, it’s pretty clear… God help us!”

Sam felt that great wave of anger which had exploded in the bar welling up in her again but she forced it down. Its time would come; now what she wanted was information.

“This Madge Gowder, she related to the twins?”

“Their ma.”

“So the Galleys lived in Illthwaite too?”

“No,” said Mrs. Appledore. “In Eskdale, not far away as the crow flies. But they were kin of the Gowders.”

“The Gowders? You mean I could be related to the Gowders?” exclaimed Sam, not trying to conceal her horror.

“Aye. Well, like they say, you can choose your friends but you can’t choose your relatives. I shouldn’t worry too much though. Cousins they called each other for convenience, but the family connection was a lot further back than makes true cousins in my book. For all that, round here even thin blood’s still thicker than water. The Galleys never amounted to much, while the Gowders used to be one of the important families in Illthwaite. But they always took care of the Galleys in their way, if you call tossing the odd bone to a starving hound taking care of it. So when little Pam were orphaned, it seemed natural she should be brought over from Eskdale and left at Foulgate.”

“Natural to leave a little girl with the Gowders!”

“You’re a bit quick to judge, if you don’t mind me saying so,” said Mrs. Appledore, regarding her critically. “Is that an Aussie thing?”