Sam said, “Describe it.”

“The Moss? Why, it’s just a huge flat area of lank grass, the kind of spiky olive-colored stuff that grows on swampy ground. From a distance it looks as if you could walk over it, but as you get closer you see it’s dotted with pools of black water, some hardly more than puddles, others large as ponds. The only brightness is the occasional patch of livid green, some kind of lichen, I think. Again, it looks solid enough, but if you put your weight on it, your foot goes right through into foul black mud, as I found to my cost. Which reminds me, I haven’t returned the clothes I borrowed from Thor.”

“What about stones? Rocks?”

“I told you,” he said, puzzled. “It’s wetland. A morass. When you get back to the solid ground there are some huge boulders, terrifying things, God knows where they rolled down from. But there’s nothing on the Moss itself, or if there is it’s buried so deep you’d need a submersible to find it. Why so interested?”

Sam was saved from answering by the return of Thor with three tumblers filled with Scotch. Mig took his gratefully and downed half of it in a single draft.

Sam said, “No thanks, Thor. Like I said, I want to keep a clear head. I’ll get myself some more coffee though.”

She went into the kitchen, refilled her mug from the cafetiere, but didn’t return to the living room. Instead she went out into the courtyard. What she was looking for was exactly where her eidetic memory told her it was, the tub of polished and many-colored stones standing in a corner. She put her hand into the tub and plucked three of them out, one gleaming white, one dusty red, one gray-blue, like the Woollass eyes.

Like her own eyes.

“There you are,” said Thor behind her. “Mig suddenly remembered he’d been heading for the loo when he strayed into the living room and saw the picture. And you were on your way to the phone, weren’t you? Changed your mind?”

“Decided it’s a bit too late,” she said. “Thor, these stones…”

“Nice, aren’t they? You like them? Trust a sharp Aussie to pick the one thing unchargeable to my artistic magic. Nature did all. To wit, the sea. There’s a couple of beaches and one bay in particular which abound in such lovely pebbles. I suppose I could charge you for my time in collecting them. But no, I feel a generous fit coming on. Help yourself, my dear, help yourself!”

“Thanks,” said Sam. “So what do you use them for?”

“Pebble mosaics mostly, our rough Cumbrian answer to the glittering pavements of Byzantium. Curiously enough, the first one I ever did was up at the Hall, to mark the elevation of old Dunny to a papal peerage or some such thing. It took the local fancy and there are many homes in Skaddale where you can see the result. The Woollasses have always been the glass of fashion and the mold of form… Sorry. I’m being crass. I was forgetting… you know…”

“That it’s my family you’re talking about?” said Sam. “That’s OK. I’m going to be facing them shortly, remember? The better prepared I am, the better prepared I’ll be. So Dunstan got a title from the Pope?”

“Oh yes. His father was delighted. Even more pleased, I heard, than when his boy was awarded the Military Cross in the war. God and Caesar, no question who came first in old Rupert’s eyes.”

“So he’s a hero too? I can imagine him leading a cavalry charge!”

“I think you’re thinking of the wrong kind of war,” said Thor. “No, he didn’t dash about in a lovely uniform waving a saber. On the contrary; as he was in the SAS, I suspect he did more crawling than dashing, and more quiet garrotting than noisy swashbuckling.”

“Did you do a mosaic for his medal too?”

“No, despite my evident antiquity, I wasn’t quite into my artistic stride in 1945,” laughed Thor.

“No, sorry. But the papal award thing, when did you do that?”

Thor thought a moment, then the animation went out of his face.

“That would be 1961,” he said shortly.

“In the spring? In that spring?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. But what does that signify?” asked Thor, regarding her suspiciously.

“I suppose it helps explain Dunstan’s defensive tactics when he heard what his son had been up to,” said Sam. “Family just honored with his title, and I’m sure Mig said something to me about Father Simeon getting an approving mention in some Vatican statement – that was probably at the same time. So, the Woollass family on the up and up, a nasty old rumor finally put to sleep – old Dunny must have shit broken glass when he learned his son and heir had committed rape!”

It made sense, even though it was mainly verbiage to divert Thor from the real trend of her thinking. Sense or not, he was still regarding her doubtfully when the phone rang in the house.

He turned and went inside, passing Mig emerging from the kitchen into the courtyard.

Sam slipped the stones into her bumbag and gave him a welcoming smile.

He said, “Sam, I was wondering. When you go back to the Hall, would you like me to come with you? Your decision, of course. I just want you to know I’m available.”

“If I’d thought for a second you weren’t, I’d punch you in the throat,” she said. “I think I need to see them alone. Especially Gerry. But it would be nice to know you were in screaming distance. Anyway, we’ve still got well over an hour. Tell you what I’d like to do…”

Before she could finish, Thor reappeared.

“That was Edie,” he said. “Fred Allison, local farmer, just dropped into the Stranger. He hadn’t heard anything about what happened this morning, but when he did, he told Edie he’d picked up Laal Gowder a few miles down the road from the hospital and dropped him outside the pub. He never said a word all the time he was in the car and, when he got out, he ignored Fred’s invitation to come in and have a drink but crossed the bridge and went along the riverbank as if he was going up the fell path to Foulgate.”

“Well, that’s good. At least he’s got back safe,” said Mig.

“It’s what he might do now he’s back that bothers me,” said Thor.

“Harm himself, you mean?”

Thor barked a humorless laugh.

“Doubt it. Not big on self-destruction, the Gowders. But when it comes to simple destruction… Look, I think I’d better head round there. He shouldn’t be alone and he’s used to me talking straight to him.”

“Do you want us to come?” said Mig.

“Perhaps not,” said Thor. “Somehow I don’t think the sight of Sam is going to calm his troubled mind.”

“Of course not. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking,” said Mig.

“That’s why you almost became a priest,” said Sam kindly. “Not thinking’s a condition of service. Tell you what you can do, Thor. You can drop me and Mig off up at the top of Stanebank. I fancy a breath of air and he said he’d take me up to Mecklin Moss.”

Mig looked slightly startled at this news, but Thor said, “OK, if that’s what you want. Let’s go then.”

A few moments later they were in the pickup, rattling up the track. There was no sign of life as they passed the Hall. Perhaps, thought Sam, they’ve all done a runner.

On second thoughts, it didn’t seem very likely. Dunstan didn’t strike her as the running type. Frek neither. As for Gerry, perhaps by the time she’d finished with him, he’d be wishing he had run while he still had the chance!

A couple of minutes later, Thor brought the pickup to a halt.

“Here we are, folks,” he said. “Though what you’re going to do in that dreary place, I can’t imagine. Unless you’d like to borrow a groundsheet, that is.”

He managed a twinkle, but they could tell he wasn’t looking forward to whatever awaited him at Foulgate.

They watched the pickup bump away along the track.

“He’s a good man, I think,” said Mig softly.

“Yes,” said Sam. “I do believe he is. But now he’s gone, I suppose I’ll have to rely on you for guidance. Beggars can’t be choosers. Lead on and show me this Moss.”