Page 138 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

Jimmy didn’t look back.

They moved in silence, Nate keeping his distance; far enough not to be seen, but close enough not to lose his quarry.

The darkness was beginning to lift; he could pick out the line of the hedge, the dip of the ground, leading to the side gate. Jimmy slipped through, the gate bumping shut behind him. Nate followed, more slowly, easing the latch shut so it didn’t click.

Beyond the gate, the ground opened out. It was the same stretch of orchard where Nate had found the blood on Saturday morning.

Jimmy cut across the orchard. He knew the ground.

Nate sensed something unfamiliar settle into place. He pictured the lake – the ducks, the hen sitting still over her eggs – Thyme, his mind supplied, before he could stop it. Sammy’s name for the hen. Jimmy must have been responsible for that.

When Jimmy reached the far side of the orchard, he ducked through a break in the hedge, out of sight.

Nate stopped in his tracks, listening. Nothing but the early stir of birds, the whisper of wind through leaves.

He took his phone from his pocket; his eyes focussed on the gap in the hedge where Jimmy had disappeared.

Nate dialled. He kept his voice at a whisper, ‘Police, please.’

Thirty-three

At eight o’clock on Friday morning, they opened the Hall. Together.

Sammy took the shutters along one side of the corridor, Magnus the other. He was always half a step ahead, but she kept close enough that it didn’t matter. Catch upright, panels back, one after the next. Thud, thud.

Outside, on the lawn, a doe grazed, a fawn tight beside her. Sammy noticed them, then made herself move on. She had more important things to focus on.

Magnus reached the next window, his waistcoat pulling slightly where a key sat in the pocket. Sammy had seen it yesterday evening too. Today. She felt certain. Possibly as soon as they’d finished with the shutters. Sammy couldn’t wait to see the look on Valerie’s face.

She opened the next set of shutters, pushing them wide, fixing them back properly instead of rushing it like she might have done a few months ago.

Last night’s memories nudged at her. No more Jimmy. No ambiguity. But Chloe had laughed, as if Sammy had asked her to remember to switch off the lights. Then later, lying listening to an owl hooting, that sound through the wall. Voices, she’d thought. Too muffled to catch anything, but there. She’d almost got up to check if Chloe had Jimmy in with her but convinced herself that Chloe was just listening to a podcast.

This morning, Sammy was done with ‘almost’. Chloe would go. No discussion. Sammy would get the key back from Magnus and celebrate. With Nate, not Chloe.

‘Mr Magnus, I need to tell you something.’

A thud from a shutter. ‘I’m listening.’

‘Yesterday I told Chloe not to let Jimmy come to the cottage. Nowhere near the estate.’

‘Indeed. Well done Miss Jenkins.’

‘I thought you should know.’

She moved to the last window. Magnus had already finished his side and was checking the corridor in the way of his that missed nothing. Sammy fastened the shutter back and stepped away. When she glanced out again, the doe had lifted her head. The fawn stayed close, pressed in against her flank. A chill ran down her spine; Sammy had the oddest sense of being watched.

She heard shoes squeaking against the floorboards and trotted off to catch up with Magnus.

Magnus smelled them before noticing them – a small arrangement of late yellow roses and greenery, sitting on the console table in the entrance hall. Miss Jenkins. She had steadied over the past week. No corrections required, and each time he raised the bar she cleared it. The key would follow. He had already come to that conclusion after she rescued Stop It, especially now she had stood up to that friend of hers.

They were halfway through opening the entrance hall when Magnus heard a car engine.

He was at the window furthest from the front door, one hand on the last shutter catch. Magnus walked to the door, folding one shutter, securing it with a clatter. The upper glass portion of the door gave a view of the turning circle. And a police car.

Magnus pursed his lips, gripped the second shutter and pushed it back into the recess. Follow-up, perhaps. He had reported the poaching incident. It would be entirely in order for the police to make inquiries.

Outside, the driver’s door opened.