"And Elizabeth?"

"Foxbane," he said with a wry smile. "Smaller… but no less deadly."

Eleanor felt only irritation as she walked toward the barrier and saw a fire smoldering in the middle of the deserted encampment. It was the height of irresponsibility to leave burning wood untended, even if the ground was frozen with ice. Ignoring the "keep out" notice, she put a hand on the rope to lift it, and suffered a pang of alarm when two hooded figures stepped out from behind trees on either side of the path.

"Can we do something for you, Mrs. Bartlett?" asked the one to her left. He spoke with a soft Dorset accent, but there was nothing else to judge him by except a pair of pale eyes that watched her closely over the scarf that covered his mouth.

Eleanor was more taken aback than she cared to admit. "How do you know my name?" she asked indignantly.

"Electoral register." He tapped a parr of binoculars on his chest. "I watched you come out of Shenstead House. How can we help you?"

She was at a loss for words. A courteous traveler was not a stereotype she recognized, and she immediately questioned what sort of encampment this was. For no logical reason-except that the muffled faces, army-surplus overcoats, and binoculars suggested maneuvers-she decided she was dealing with a soldier.

"There's obviously been a mistake," she said, preparing to lift the rope again. "I was told travelers had taken over the Copse."

Fox advanced and held the rope where it was. "The sign says 'keep out'," he said. "I suggest you obey it." He nodded toward a couple of Alsatians that lay on the ground near one of the buses. "They're on long tethers. It would be sensible not to disturb them."

"But what's going on?" she demanded. "I think the village has a right to know."

"I disagree."

The bald response left her scrabbling. "You can't just…" She waved an ineffectual hand. "Do you have permission to be here?"

"Give me the name of the landowner and I'll discuss terms with him."

"It belongs to the village," she said.

He tapped the "keep out" notice. "I'm afraid not, Mrs. Bartlett. There's no record of it belonging to anyone. It's not even registered as common land under the 1965 Act, and the Lockean theory of property says that when a piece of land is vacant then it may be claimed through adverse possession by anyone who encloses it, erects structures, and defends his title. We claim this land as ours unless and until someone comes forward with a deed of ownership."

"That's outrageous."

"It's the law."

"We'll see about that," she snapped. "I'm going home to call the police."

"Go ahead," said the man, "but you'll be wasting your time. Mr. Weldon's already spoken to them. You'd do better to find yourselves a good solicitor." He jerked his head toward Shenstead Manor. "Maybe you should ask Mr. Lockyer-Fox if you can use Mr. Ankerton… at least he's in situ and probably knows something about the rules and regulations re terra nullius. Or have you burned your boats in that direction, Mrs. Bartlett?"

Eleanor's alarm returned. Who was he? How did he know the name of James's solicitor? That certainly wasn't in the electoral register for Shenstead. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Terra nullius. Land with no owner."

She found his pale stare unnerving-familiar even-and glanced toward the smaller, bulkier figure next to him. "Who are you?"

"Your new neighbors, darlin'," said a woman's voice. "We're gonna be here a while, so you'd better get used to us."

This was a voice and gender that Eleanor felt she could deal with-the chewed diphthongs of an Essex girl. Also the woman was fat. "Oh, I don't think so," she said condescendingly. "I think you'll find Shenstead is well out of your reach."

"It don't look that way at the moment," said the other. "Just two of you's turned up since your old man drove by at eight-thirty. Hardly a fuckin' stampede to get rid of us, is it, bearin' in mind it's Boxing Day and everyone's on holiday? What's wrong with the rest of them? Ain't no one told them we're here… or don't they care?"

"The word will spread quickly, don't you worry."

The woman gave an amused laugh. "I reckon it's you needs to start worrying, darlin'. You've got lousy communications here. So far, it looks like your man alerted Mr. Weldon and he's alerted you… or maybe it was your man alerted you and it's taken you four hours to get dolled up. Either way, they've dropped you in it without telling you what's going on. Mr. Weldon was so fired up we thought he was gonna set a whole posse of solicitors on us… and all we get is a piece of candyfloss. How does that work, then? Are you the most terrifying thing this village has got?"

Eleanor's lips thinned angrily. "You're absurd," she said. "You obviously know very little about Shenstead."

"I wouldn't bet on it," the woman murmured.

Neither would Eleanor. She was disturbed by the accuracy of their information. How did they know it was Julian who drove past at eight-thirty? Had someone told them what car he owned? "Well, you're right about one thing," she said, jamming the fingers of both hands together to tighten her gloves, "a posse of solicitors is exactly what you're going to face. Mr. Weldon's and Colonel Lockyer-Fox's have both been informed and, now that I've seen for myself what sort of people we're dealing with, I shall be instructing ours."

The man attracted her attention by tapping the notice again. "Don't forget to mention that it's an issue of ownership and adverse possession, Mrs. Bartlett," he said. "You'll save yourself a lot of money if you explain that when Mr. Weldon tried to enclose it, no deeds to this piece of land could be found."

"I'm not taking advice from you on how to talk to my solicitor," she snapped.

"Then perhaps you should wait for your husband to come home," he suggested. "He won't want to run up bills on a piece of land he has no claim to. He'll tell you the responsibility lies with Mr. Weldon and Mr. Lockyer-Fox."

Eleanor knew he was right, but the suggestion that she needed her husband's permission to do anything sent her blood pressure soaring. "How very misinformed you are," she said scathingly. "My husband's commitment to this village is one hundred percent… as you will discover in due course. He's not in the habit of backing away from a battle just because his interests aren't threatened."

"You're very sure of him."

"With reason. He upholds people's rights… unlike you who are intent on destroying them."

There was a short silence, which Eleanor interpreted as victory. With a tight little smile of triumph, she turned on her heel and stalked away.

"Maybe you should ask him about his lady friend," the woman called after her, "the one that comes visiting every time your back's turned… blond… blue-eyed… and not a day over thirty… that sure as hell don't look like a hundred percent commitment to us… more like a replacement model for a beat-up old banger in need of a facelift."

Wolfie watched the woman walk away. He could see her face going pale as Fox whispered into Bella's ear and Bella shouted after her. He wondered if she was a social worker. At the very least she was a "do-gooder," he guessed, otherwise she wouldn't have frowned so much when Fox put his hand on the rope to stop her coming in. Wolfie was glad of that, because he hadn't liked the look of her. She was skinny and her nose was pointy, and there were no smiley lines around her eyes.

His mother had told him never to trust people without smiley lines. It means they can't laugh, she said, and people who can't laugh don't have souls. What's a soul? he'd asked. It's all the kind things that a person's ever done, she said. It shows in their face when they smile, because laughter is the music of the soul. If the soul never hears music then it dies, which is why unkind people don't have smiley lines.