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and yourself. Perhaps she has become bored with Mr Sturgess, our neighbour, driving her about and playing cards five hours in the day. Still, I wish I had had the idea for a summerhouse of some sort before my son Ambrose grew so old and upright, but perhaps his children shall play there.’
    Harriet looked at her. ‘You named your son after your first love?’
    Mrs Briggs nodded. ‘With Mr Briggs’s happy consent, my dear. Theywere friends as children and I think Ambrose would have been glad to see his namesake grown up so strong and well-established in life. We do what we can for the memory of our poor dear dead.’
    ‘And you wish to have the mystery of this extra body in the tomb revealed for the same reason?’
    Mrs Briggs spoke slowly. ‘Well, I suppose he was someone’s son. I believe by the clothing the body is that of a man. I do not know what you might be able to find out. He is a long time gone, poor fellow, but these hills have long memories, the hills and the people. I have been here thirty years and am thought of as an out-comer still.’ She clapped her hands on her knees, and became brisk again. ‘You will most likely find nothing at all, but I am easier in my mind knowing an attempt will be made. Then we may say some prayers over the poor forgotten thing, and you may enjoy the air and exercise we offer. Now I must go and dress for dinner, and allow you to do the same. Miriam will have your clothes all laid out by now, and will help you if you need her.’ She stood and bustled out of the room and Harriet smiled after her, then began, with a grimace, to wonder how she should dress to meet the Vizegräfin, doubting if she had anything sufficient to the occasion.

I.5
    S TEPHEN HAD RUN HARD up the wooded path to the west of the house and now bent over his knees panting. He was already in love with the lake and the hills, and as he left the house to look at the mountains, he found his mind was teeming so with plans for boating, swimming in the lake and climbing each of the peaks, he had felt a sudden urge to dash about that could not be denied. Mr Quince was already showing himself to be the best sort of tutor for such a trip by remarking as Stephen’s plans tumbled out of him that there was no better way to study geography than walking about in it, and he had always thought mathematics best tackled after a long swim.
    Around him, oaks and beeches dressed with their summer foliage swung and stretched in the hazy sky. The birdsong was cacophonous: the bark of a chaffinch, the warbling, reaching trill of a yellow-hammer. The calls crossed and cut under each other. The air was full of the smell of dry earth and the competing breaths of wild flowers.
    Stephen caught enough of his wind to look up and saw a jackdaw scratching about on the path in front of him. It was smaller than the crows he saw at Caveley and had very bright blue eyes. The feathers on its head were a little grey, giving the impression of a particularly glossy wig.
    ‘Good day, crow,’ Stephen said, his general good humour spilling over to the whole animal world.
    The jackdaw hopped round in a tight circle before it looked over its shoulder at him.
    ‘Good day,’ it replied with the same lilt that Stephen had heard from the servants in the house.
    Alarmed, the boy took a step back, caught his heel on a branch and fell heavily on his behind in the track, mouth still open. The bird fluttered away a little, looking offended. Stephen’s view was suddenly blocked by a pair of legs in brown wool. A hand was extended to him and he found himself pulled to his feet by a man in labouring clothes. He was the colour of the stained wood floors in the nursery in Caveley, and his beard was whitening in places. It was a round, manly-looking face, and smiling. His hair was curly, and he had a great deal of it.
    ‘You whole there, youngling?’ the man said. Stephen nodded, trying to catch sight of the bird again. ‘Give you a fright, did he?’
    ‘I was