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Billy, of course, acted as if he was personally acquainted with the vicar of said church, but quickly swallowed his embellishments after receiving one of Miss Charlotte’s looks. ‘That’s the Dog and Duck,’ he said instead, pointing to the building in the shadow of the tower.

Lips pursing at the thought of entering the possible den of iniquity, Charlotte took Billy’s arm in a firm grip. Standing behind them, Arabella glanced over at Beatrix with slightly raised eyebrows, both of them clearly thinking the same thing. If their aunt thought to safeguard the boy’s virtue, she was about eight years too late…

Five minutes later, Charlotte primly directed them towards the saloon bar entrance. Rob in particular stared with interest at the outside before following the rest of them. Stained glass panels decorated the three exterior doors. The whole frontage was covered in elaborate mahogany woodwork with ornate decorative mouldings. It was almost as if the pub was trying to compete with the church that shadowed it. The inns back home had their share of fancy features, but they mostly consisted of ornate cast-iron balconies and verandas to provide shade from the harsh Australian sun.

Finally stepping inside, Rob found the interior much smaller than he was used to. There was a substantial wooden counter in the centre, which clearly serviced the whole pub.

The saloon bar they stood in actually had carpets and comfortable seating, obviously catering for patrons with a little more coin. Billy looked around with his mouth open – it was very different to the public bar he’d entered the day before and definitely a far cry from the pub in Paignton his da had spent most of his sorry life in. The two rooms had been separated by a large, decorated screen. Only those serving behind the bar could see both sides.

Since it was early in the day, they were the only ones present in the saloon, though they could hear the murmur of conversation, laughter and clink of glasses coming from the other side.

‘’Ang on, I’ll be with you in a second,’ a voice shouted from behind the screen after Henry rang the bell sitting on the bar to announce their presence.

Moments later, Gladys appeared, wiping her hands on her apron.

‘Well, if it ain’t the Artful Dodger,’ she quipped, grinning at Billy. ‘I reckon I might owe Arnold a sixpence. This yer Mr ‘Enry?’ She nodded towards Henry, who bent his head respectfully.

Puffing himself up importantly, Billy stepped forward and introduced the members of their party, before turning round and announcing, ‘This is Gladys. I wudden even ‘ave found the place if it ‘adn’t bin fer ‘er an’ Arnold.’

‘Pleased to meet you, I’m sure,’ his rescuer retorted. Now afore I fetch Arnold. Wot you goin’ to do wi’ that stiff we left in the cupboard?’

CHAPTER 8

Climbing out of the cart bed nearly an hour later proved a lot more complicated than climbing into it.

The journey itself was memorable for all the wrong reasons. In truth, if it hadn’t been for the fact that Arnold appeared - for some unfathomable reason - to have formed a bit of a penchant for Charlotte, Henry suspected they’d have been dumped halfway through the journey, on account of the fact that his sister’s caterwauling could be heard half a mile away – specifically concerning the toll the journey was taking on her nether regions.

Indeed, Billy was privately concerned that Gladys might be tempted to get her piece of broken mirror out, and he well knew that nothing positive would come of that confrontation.

The relief, therefore, when they finally arrived at their destination was both universal and entirely unfeigned. Henry even had to resist the urge to kiss the ground.

However, the entertainment didn’t entirely end on their arrival. While they all struggled a little to climb down, getting Charlotte out of the cart bed looked as though it might take the best part of the day.

If their actual arrival hadn’t been noticed, there was a much greater chance that what happened straight after would jog somebody’s memory, since a large man lifting a shrieking woman out of a cart was not something that would go unnoticed. Especially when said woman happened to be a matron of middling years.

In fact, such hysterics were most unlike his sister, and Henry certainly gave the beefy Arnold a second look in case there was something he’d missed. Could the attraction possibly go both ways? The most likely explanation on Arnold’s part was that Lottie’s continued reference to her nether regions had inflamed her would-be prince…

Whether there was an ulterior motive to Charlotte’s complaining, Henry didn’t have the time to speculate. Especially as the general consensus was that, given the unexpected ruckus, they needed to get out of sight and into the house as quickly as possible.

Naturally Arnold had parked the cart well away from their intended destination, but that also meant that it took them what felt like a painfully long time to reach the front door, despite the running involved. In fairness, Charlotte did her best to keep up and was mercifully silent while doing so.

As they gathered in the dark entrance hall, it felt as though Muriel Pemberton’s presence permeated the whole house. That said, if one put aside the fact that there was a dead body locked in an upstairs cupboard, it was considerably less sinister than Billy’s account had led them to believe, although it was quickly apparent that the place had been abandoned – most likely due the events at Castel-a Mere.

A thorough search revealed two bedchambers upstairs that had obviously been used as dormitories, while the other five had clearly been converted to offices, now completely abandoned aside from desks and cupboards – all of them empty of everything but dust and, regrettably, one dead body...

The ground floor, however, gave no indication that the property was anything other than a gentleman’s residence. The only hint it was anything more was the discreet plaque next to the front porch.

Unfortunately, after searching every drawer and cupboard in every room, the documents they were looking for remained frustratingly elusive until finally they were gathered in front of the only place they hadn’t yet looked - Muriel Pemberton’s impromptu resting place. For a full minute, everybody waited for somebody else to unlock it. Naturally it was Benedict who finally stepped forward with a reluctant sigh while the rest of the party backed off holding their noses.

‘I’m tellin yer, there ain’t nothin’ in that cupboard aside from a bloody stiff,’ Arthur declared.

‘She said they wos in the wall,’ Billy insisted for the umpteenth time as he hovered behind them. His words were uttered with the pained air of someone who felt they were not being listened to. ‘They wos ‘er exact words… I ‘id ‘em in the wall.’

Ben hesitated, then turned round with a grimace.

‘Perhaps it would be prudent to let sleeping clairvoyants lie unless it becomes absolutely necessary,’ he announced – a little sheepishly, it had to be said.

Unsurprisingly, no one put up an argument…