Sebastian glanced briefly and said, “I meant old newspapers. Whichever volume might have the story of Grace Eccles and Evangeline Bancroft.”

The woman’s manner seemed to chill, and her face became set.

“What story would that be?” she said.

“About the time where they were lost on the moors,” he said. “I understand that it was a good few years ago.”

“I’m afraid all those issues are at the bindery.”

“Can you check that for me?”

Her face betrayed nothing.

“I don’t need to,” she said.

“Perhaps I’ll talk to Miss Eccles, then. Can you tell me where to find her?”

“I don’t advise it.”

“All the same, I’d like to.”

“Grace took over her father’s cottage on the Lancaster estate. You can try talking to her, but I doubt she’ll have much to say to you.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“No,” she said, “I can’t.” And she walked off into an inner room behind the counter, leaving him alone.

HE GOT back to the Sun Inn at five minutes before ten. Sir Owain’s car was already waiting, its engine idling and Sir Owain’s chauffeur behind the wheel. When the driver saw Sebastian, he hopped out and had the passenger cab door open by the time he reached it. There was no one else in the car.

“Thank you,” Sebastian said, and climbed aboard. He settled back into the buttoned leather seat as the driver returned to his place.

Sebastian tried to look as if he were used to this. But of course, he wasn’t. The landaulet was a rich man’s transport, and Sebastian was not a rich man. It was, in essence, the coachwork of the finest horse carriage built onto a heavy motor chassis. The passenger rode in comfort while the driver faced the elements behind the engine, bundled up in leather and goggles with just a short windshield for protection.

But to drive one was a mark of prestige for any servant. And this man knew it. Small boys stopped to watch as the car swung around in the street and they headed out of town, along the road that Sebastian had come in by. Instead of crossing the river to the station, they turned inland.

Sebastian leaned forward and knocked on the glass that separated him from the driver. He had to knock again, and harder, before he was heard.

The driver unhooked a catch, and the window cracked open an inch or two. The wind roared through the gap. The driver cocked his head toward it, without taking his eyes off the road.

Sebastian raised his voice and half-shouted, “Where’s the cottage that Grace Eccles lives in? Is it on this road?”

The driver shook his head. Then said, “It’s over toward the river.”

“Can we reach it by car?”

“Not without making you late. Sir Owain’s waiting.”

“Sir Owain can wait a while longer. I want to visit her first.”

The road hit a patch of bad repair, and Sebastian did nothing to gain the driver’s favor by having distracted him so that he failed to avoid the worst of it.

When they were done bumping, the driver said, “I can’t do that, sir. I take my instructions from my employer.”

Watching the man’s gloved hands on the wheel, Sebastian said, “And do those instructions include rummaging through the hotel rooms of his visitors?”

He saw the driver’s grip tighten for just a moment, which gave him his answer before the man said, “I have no idea what you can mean by that, sir.”

“Never mind,” Sebastian said. “Today your employer answers to me. So you’ll take me first to Grace’s cottage, please.”

AS THEY FOLLOWED THE COURSE OF THE RIVER INLAND, THE estuary plain was wide and sandy. But the sand gradually turned to a mixture of sand and mud, that in turn grew a surface of moss and vegetable scum, that in turn became wide open fields where animals grazed. On a raised bank overlooking these flats, they passed a row of upturned boats and dinghies like the shells of sleeping turtles.

After another mile or so, a bare track led to an open place by the water. At the end of the track was a collection of mismatched wooden buildings, at the heart of which stood a ramshackle stone cottage. The roofs of the buildings had all been repaired with tarpaper. There was a straw-covered yard before the cottage and beyond the yard, a gate in a rail fence led out into open paddock and grazing land. This was poor land, low-lying and liable to flood.

As they were approaching, Sebastian thought that he saw a figure flit between two of the buildings. The track was growing rougher, and the driver stopped the car with at least a dozen or more yards still to go.

He clearly didn’t expect to be staying here for long. He kept the engine running as he got out to open Sebastian’s door.

As Sebastian stepped down, the driver said, “You should know this is a waste of your time.”

“How so?” Sebastian said, noting the presence of horses far off in the paddock, right down by the water.

“Grace Eccles can be a bit wild. I’m telling you, she’s known for it.”

The driver closed the car door behind him. Sebastian started toward the buildings alone.

Before he’d taken more than a few strides, a young woman came out. She wore a full skirt and a man’s jacket buttoned up tight, and her hair was so long and unkempt that it seemed so by intent rather than neglect.

Grace Eccles, he assumed. She had a rock in her hand.

She said, “This is my house. You come no closer.”

Sebastian stopped.

“How close would be acceptable?” he said.

“I prefer you fuck off and far away, sir, and here’s the proof of it.”

He might have been shocked by her language, had she given him the chance to react. But she did not.

It was a good throw, overarm and with force in it. And accurate, too. It would have laid him out flat if he hadn’t turned side-on and dodged it. It missed his head by a whisker. It missed the driver by more, but went on to smash through the Daimler’s side window like a marble fist.

Whereupon the driver emitted a loud oath that was almost as foul as her own and scrambled to get back to the wheel of his vehicle. He crashed the gears in his haste to reverse up the track to a place of greater safety; and as the wheels spun and the Daimler slid around in its retreat, Sebastian remembered to look toward Grace Eccles in case there might be another rock coming.

But she was watching the car’s departure with visible satisfaction.

Sebastian said, “That was uncalled for.”

“Whatever you say,” Grace Eccles replied. “How many motorcars can you muster? I’ve no end of stones.”

With the aim of catching her unawares, Sebastian said, “I’m here on serious business. Two young girls were found dead on the estate yesterday.”

She showed no particular reaction. She kept on looking at the car for a while, and then she looked at him.

“What’s that to me?” she said.

“I thought you might be concerned to hear it.”

She did no more than shrug.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask.”

Sebastian said, “What happened to you and Evangeline Bancroft? And why will no one speak of it?”

“I know why you’re here,” she said, ignoring his question. “Tell him I don’t care who he sends. This was my father’s house, and now it’s mine. I’ve a piece of paper that a judge has looked at, and here I stay.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then where’s the point in you standing there and listening to me?”

She turned her back on him, walked across the yard and into her house, and slammed the door.

In that moment it was as if she’d walked out of the world completely; the house sat like a dead thing, abandoned and unlived in.

Sebastian waited.