What they now heard from Gerry, that the truth was coming out and their protected status was over, simply confirmed what Sam’s outburst in the pub had threatened. They were in deep trouble.

The Gowder under the Wolf-Head, which sloped out from the bank at an angle of forty-five degrees like the figurehead of some monstrous ship, was unable to react except with a threatening glower.

His brother, however, shot out a huge hand as Gerry turned away and grasped his sleeve, saying, “Now ho’d on, now ho’d on,” still having enough strength in his other arm to do his share in steadying the Cross.

Probably Gerry’s intention was merely to shake himself free from this abhorrent touch. But as he flung out his arm to dislodge the grip, the back of his hand caught Gowder full across the bridge of his nose. Blood spurted, tears came to his eyes. Strike a fighting dog and it will strike back. With a bellow of rage, he flung himself at Gerry.

The loose end of the canvas sling whipped round the Cross and Thor’s own weight sent him toppling backward.

To the onlookers who saw all this in terrifying dumb-show, it seemed as if the monstrous Wolf-Head, freed at last from long restraint, leapt forward in its eagerness to destroy its nearest captor.

Even now if the other Gowder had simply hurled himself sideways he might have come off scot-free or at least escaped serious injury. But a lifetime of triumphing in all trials of strength inspired him to hold his ground.

Thor, prostrate, could only watch in horror. The other twin, grappling with Gerry, turned his head and saw too late what was happening. His brother held the monstrous bole of wood steady for perhaps two seconds, which was at least a second longer than most other men could have achieved.

And then he fell backward, still embracing the Wolf-Head, which crashed down along the whole length of his body.

His arms flew wide, he spasmed for a moment, then he lay there, stock-still, to the kitchen onlookers’ eyes like a man crucified upside down.

All this in less time than it takes to gasp a prayer.

After that it was all confusion, with everyone rushing around, and most of them guessing that not all the activity in the world could make the slightest difference.

Winander and Mig and the other Gowder, now forever Laal, dragged the Wolf-Head clear. Thor proved himself a man for emergencies, trying every technique of resuscitation, but it was soon clear to everyone except his brother that the crushed man was dead. He knelt by the body, pleading with it, urging it, screaming at it, to return to life. He resisted all efforts to move him away and he was still there when the small local ambulance came ululating up Stanebank.

Accepting, as though hope remained, that the hospital was the best place for his brother, Gowder finally allowed the paramedics to lift the body into the ambulance. As he climbed in beside it, Thor tried to accompany him, but felt himself pushed back, not roughly but firmly.

“Nay,” he said. “Just me. We’ve got nobody, we need nobody.”

Then he turned his terrible gaze, which had something of the Wolf-Head in it, on to the three Woollasses who stood close together and said, “This is thy doing.”

It defied logic, it expressed no threat, yet the words fell on the listening ears like a sentence spoken by a black-capped judge.

As the ambulance’s warning wail faded down the valley, Sam looked toward the Woollass trio, standing close together, Dunstan in the middle, Frek and Gerry on either side.

Maybe that’s where I should be, she thought. I’m one of them.

Revulsion from the thought made her put her arm round Mig’s waist and he needed no second invitation to pull her close to his side.

Sam and Gerry had come near to each other during the melee after the accident, they had even made eye contact, but not a word had yet been exchanged. This didn’t feel like the right time. But when would be a right time to say whatever they had to say?

Thor looked from one group to the other as if sensing but not yet comprehending the gulf between them.

Then the kitchen door opened and Mrs. Collipepper appeared.

“Mr. Dunny, you get yourself in here afore you catch your death,” she commanded. “I’m surprised at you, Miss Frek. Can’t you see he’s not well?”

The old man did indeed look very frail, but Mig found himself wondering if this too wasn’t just part of the consummate performance he’d witnessed over the past hour.

It certainly resolved the situation. Gerry and Frek began to assist Dunstan toward the kitchen. Imperiously he shook them off on the threshold, looked back at Sam and said, “We should talk further, my dear. This afternoon, when we have all had time to recover our composure. Come to tea. Four-thirty sharp.”

For Mig and Sam the precise domesticity of the invitation was a tension-breaker. As the kitchen door closed, they looked at each other and had difficulty stifling their giggles.

“I’m glad you find something funny in all this,” growled Thor.

“I’m sorry,” said Sam remorsefully.

“You don’t understand,” said Mig.

“Then come down to the Forge and explain it to me,” said Thor, opening the door of the pickup.

Sam started talking even before they were out of the Hall driveway. She felt strangely calm now, as if the death of whichever Gowder it was had been cathartic. She felt the same calmness in Mig, pressed close against her on the seat. Perhaps, cocooned in this calm, they should carry on down the Bank to the Stranger House, get into their cars, and simply drive away, leaving Illthwaite and all that it had done to them behind.

But as she told Thor in simple lucid terms what she had discovered that morning, she knew that the calm was merely an interval, a gathering of strength for some final onslaught.

He brought the vehicle to a halt by his front door and sat in silence, staring straight ahead as she completed her story.

Then he smashed his fist on the dashboard and exclaimed, “Dear God! The poor kid. And that happened here and none of us knew anything about it? Dear God.”

“What would you have done if you had known?” asked Sam.

“For a start, I’d have made sure the kid was properly taken care of, not packed off to the sodding Antipodes!” he exclaimed.

It was a good answer, the best answer.

Now he turned his full attention on her.

“Sam,” he said. “I’m so sorry. This must be terrible for you. I’m sorry.”

“What for? It’s not your fault.”

“It happened here and we let it happen, and after it happened, we didn’t find out about it. I’m sorry for that. And I’m sorry you’ve been messed around, and I’m sorry you’ve had to… Jesus. You must hate this place and everybody in it.”

She considered this for a moment then said, “No.”

“No?”

He didn’t sound as if he believed her.

She said slowly, getting her thoughts in order, “Where’s the logic in that? What happened to my gran was terrible, all of it, what happened here and what happened back home. So if I hated everyone here then I’d have to hate a helluva lot of people back home too. And every tyke in both places.”

“Yorkshiremen?” said Thor, puzzled.

“Roman sodding Catholics,” said Sam. “Which would include my Aussie granpa and gran. And one or two others who aren’t so bad.”

She glanced at Mig who said, “Sam, I’m so sorry.”

“You too? So which of you pair of sorry plonkers is going to do something useful like getting me a stiff drink?”

They got out of the pickup and followed Thor into the kitchen where he picked up a bottle and some glasses before leading them out into the cobbled courtyard.

“Might as well enjoy the sun while we’ve still got it,” he said.

Above them the sun, just past its zenith, still shone out of a clear blue sky, but away to the west where the sea lay, huge storm clouds were now bubbling up.